


make a deal with the bad wolf

by moosetifying



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Attempted Murder, Canon-Typical Violence, Descriptions of fire, Detectives, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-09 22:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5557928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moosetifying/pseuds/moosetifying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Stiles Stilinski has a dead body on his hands, no suspects, and his only leads are a group of weirdos who think they’re werewolves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t published fanfiction in years, and I thought I never would again. And yet here I am. It’s all thanks to my sister, who came up with the premise of this story, convinced me to write it, and then convinced me to publish it. It’s all her fault.
> 
> Title is from AWOLNATION's "Hollow Moon (Bad Wolf)".
> 
> This story is unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Maya Harper was twenty five years old when someone broke into her apartment and set her on fire.

Stiles peers at the big sections of charred floor, the long streaks of ash leading up to the husk of what was once a young woman, slumped in front of her front door. 

“She couldn’t get out,” says a voice from behind Stiles, and he turns his head to see Danny, his partner, also looking down at the body. “There are fingernail marks on the door,” Danny continues. “Like she was trying to open it but couldn’t.”

Stiles takes a closer look at the door and indeed sees scratches in the paint around the handle. “Well, crap. Poor kid.”

“Kid?” Danny huffs. “She’s not that much younger than you, Stiles.” He lays a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “C’mon. Let forensics do their job. Time to do ours.”

The facts, as far as Stiles can make out from interviewing neighbours and searching the apartment, are these: Maya was asleep in her bed when an unknown baddie broke into her apartment in the early hours of the morning, dragged her out of bed, drizzled gasoline all over her, and lit her up. Maya’s screams woke up her neighbours, who ran to see what was wrong. By then it was too late—the mysterious baddie was gone without a trace and Maya was a charred, very dead, body. 

Pretty straightforward, except it really isn’t. Stiles has a lot of questions and no leads to speak of. Just a dead body, an empty can of gasoline, and a weird ashy substance sprinkled in a straight line just inside the front door. 

Stiles does not have a good feeling about this. 

.

Back at the office, Stiles browses through what the police database has on Maya, while Danny checks out her social media accounts. Her record is clean, as far as Stiles can see—no arrests or even a parking ticket. She’d lived in Ohio her whole life, until she got a job at a newspaper here in NYC and moved. By all accounts, a normal, nice woman. So why would someone want to break in and burn her to death?

“Hey, check this out,” Danny says from his desk. “Maya joined a Facebook group a couple of months ago, when she moved to New York.”

“Yeah?” Stiles says, eyes still on his computer.

"The group’s called The Pack,” Danny continues. “And—“ He cuts off abruptly. 

Stiles looks up. “What?”

“And they think they’re werewolves,” Danny says, sounding slightly strangled.

Stiles feels his eyebrow shoot up. “Werewolves.”

“I know,” Danny snorts. “Listen to this—“Full moon at Laura’s place this month. Whoever keeps killing squirrels and leaving them on her balcony—STOP.”” He glances up at Stiles. “These people are insane!”

Stiles sighs. “Guess we better bring them in and find out about all this. Maybe they know something.”

.

The first one they talk to is a guy around Stiles’s age, named Scott. Scott has soft brown hair and a crooked jaw and big brown eyes that he uses to blink up at Stiles earnestly. 

“Looking at Maya’s Facebook profile, we found she was part of your Facebook group…The Pack.” Stiles looks at Scott intently. “Why that name?” 

“It means family,” Scott says. “A group of werewolves, all bonded together under an Alpha.”

“And you consider yourself a werewolf,” Stiles says. 

“Oh, yeah,” Scott says, matter-of-factly. 

“So what do—” Stiles pauses, gathers himself, and pushes on, “—werewolves do?”

“It’s awesome,” Scott says. “On full moons, we spend the night out in the middle of nature, like, feeling the rejuvenating force of the moon and, like, connecting with our instincts and stuff.”

“Sounds great,” Stiles says, and for once he has nothing to add. 

.

“It’s a gift,” the next guy says, and Stiles would be totally focused on how freaking good-looking he is if he wasn’t nursing a growing headache.

“A gift,” Stiles repeats.

The man—Derek, according to his file—nods. “Strength. Power. Connection. A gift.”

Why are all the pretty ones weird, Stiles despairs. 

.

“Oh, I’m not a werewolf too,” the next one says. She swishes her long red hair back and fixes him with an imperious look. “I’m a banshee.”

“And what can a banshee do, Ms…”

“Martin,” the woman says. “Lydia Martin. And I can sense death.”

“Really,” Stiles says.

“I can feel it when someone’s about to die,” she says. “I felt a presence once and my dog died the next day.”

Stiles’ headache isn’t getting any better.

.

“They’re insane,” Danny laughs when Stiles finally gives up and heads into the break room for coffee. “What a bunch of weirdos. Werewolves, banshees…this is incredible.”

“The worst thing is,” Stiles says, staring down at the steam lazily rising from his mug, “they actually believe it. They aren’t joking around or roleplaying or whatever—they actually, genuinely believe they’re werewolves and banshees.”

Danny laughs even harder. “Yeah, as if all that supernatural crap was real. This isn’t Twilight."

“Yeah,” Stiles says, and downs his coffee in a few searing gulps. He sets the now empty mug down with a clink. “I’m going back in.”

“Good luck!” Danny calls after him. 

This time, he’s talking to Laura, a tall woman who is, according to her file, Derek’s older sister. Stiles can see the resemblance—they both have really intense eyebrows. 

“What do you want,” Laura snaps before Stiles can say anything. She looks pissed off. “You’ve kept me and my friends here for ages. Why?”

Stiles considers his options for a moment. Laura doesn’t look like someone who’ll take any crap, and odds are she’ll spout the same mystical werewolf nonsense the others had. That line of questioning has been exhausted—maybe it’s time for something different.

He sits down across from Laura, putting her file down on the table between them. 

“Maya Harper,” Stile says. “She’s your friend?” 

Laura frowns. “Yeah. Why?”

“Someone broke into her apartment last night and set her on fire,” Stiles says bluntly, and then leans back to watch Laura’s reaction.

Curiously, it’s a small reaction, contained, but no less genuine for it. Laura’s eyes widen, her mouth falling open a bit. And then her face fills with pain and she shuts her eyes, bowing her head. “Who did it?”

“We don’t know,” Stiles says, not unkindly. “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

Laura lifts her head. “Is that why you called all of us in? You think we did it?” Her full eyebrows draw down.

“We don’t know,” Stiles repeats. “But what we do know is that Maya moved to New York three months ago and right away joined your Facebook group. A group,” he leans forward, “made up of werewolves, apparently.”

“Yeah,” Laura says, challenging. “So what?” 

“Really?” Stiles says, trying not to sound too disbelieving. “Werewolves?”

Laura’s frown is turning into a genuinely pissed-off look. “Listen, asshole. Just because you think it’s weird doesn’t mean you get to knock it, alright? We’re werewolves, get over it.”

Stiles raises his hands, conciliatory, but doesn’t say anything. The room falls into silence for a moment.

“Is she really dead?” Laura says softly.

“Yeah.”

“And it was a fire?” 

“Yeah.”

Several emotions flit across Laura’s face, too muddled and quick for Stiles to make out. 

“Do you know why anyone would do this?” Stiles asks. “Did she have any enemies, people with grudges?”

Laura shakes her head. “I only knew her for a few months. But she was nice. Sweet.”

Stiles watches her for a few more seconds before coming to a decision. “Alright,” he says, standing up. “Thank you for your help.”

Laura stands up. “We can go?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, leading the way out of the interrogation room. “But we may need to ask you to come in again if there are any more questions.”

Down the hall, Laura’s friends and brother are waiting on a bench. Danny stands over them, his arms crossed.

“Have a great day,” Stiles says as Laura leads the whole bunch of them out, and then mentally kicks himself. “Wow, Stilinksi,” he mutters. “Smooth. Your friend’s dead—have a great day! Incredible.” He runs a hand through his hair and makes his way back to his desk, sitting down with a groan.

Danny perches on the corner of Stiles’ desk. “Stop pouting.”

“Kinda hard,” Stiles complains, “When we have a dead woman and our only lead turned out to be a bunch of weirdo Twilight fans. Innocent weirdo Twilight fans. Innocent being the key word here! Now we have nothing to go on!”

“Buck up,” Danny—who is immune to Stiles’ whining and thus has zero sympathy—says. “Go do your intense research thing while I check up on the coroner.”

Stiles wants to whine more but he lets Danny go without a word, instead turning on his computer and stretching out his fingers.

Time to do, as Danny puts it, his intense research thing.

Stiles spends some time just trying to find someone who could have a motive for murdering Maya—at this point, he’ll take any suspects at all. But he comes up with nothing: both her parents, happily married for thirty years, live in Ohio. Maya was an only child, so no possible sibling rivalries. Stiles checks out her LinkedIn profile and makes a note to visit the newspaper where she worked and ask around—maybe there was tension with colleagues?

Maya doesn’t seem to have any friends here in NYC, apart from The Pack. Stiles scrolls through her interactions on the Facebook group’s page; it’s all the same weirdo werewolf nonsense as the others had posted: questions about the full moon, a request for advice on getting fleas out of her fur. Then Stiles’ eyes fall on the first message she’d posted on the Facebook page, a few weeks before she’d moved to NYC: a request to meet with the Alpha. 

Stiles frowns. That’s weird, right? Even for a bunch of werewolves, that is. Or maybe it isn’t? He wouldn’t know. He’s not a supernatural creature. 

Stiles smirks to himself. Good one, Stilinski. But joking aside, he’d definitely need to follow up on the Pack—there might be something there. 

His computer dings with a new email. It’s Danny, with details from the coroner. Stiles scrolls through the reports, his brow furrowing. 

There isn’t all that much new information, to Stiles’ frustration. There had been no trace of the murderer left in the apartment—he or she must have been wearing gloves. And had probably done something like this before—committing a crime without leaving any traces is a lot harder than people think, and beginners always screw up. 

Stiles scrolls down to the next page, reaching out to grab a pencil and bring it to his mouth. 

The lab is still analysing the mysterious ash found by the door, but so far it seems to be ash from wood. Stiles stares at the picture they took in the apartment, taking in the ruler-straight line of dark powder. That was no accident, he thinks, gnawing on his pencil. There was no way it could have come from the fire burning Maya up. The killer must have sprinkled the ash out themself. 

Stiles bites down harder on his pencil. 

But why? Why sprinkle the ash like that? Why put it in front of the door? Was it supposed to act as a barrier of some sort? Was it symbolic? Did he or she do it before killing Maya or after? So many questions…

The pencil cracks.

Danny finds him still at his desk a few hours later, scowling ferociously at his computer.

“No luck, then?” Danny says sympathetically.

Stiles shakes his head, still glaring at the computer. His eyes are smarting, his back is aching, and he has absolutely nil to show for a day’s work. 

“Come on,” Danny sighs. “It’s late, it’s been a long day. Go home.”

Stiles doesn’t want to go home. Home is a depressing reminder of his total lack of love life. But Danny will judge him if he doesn’t get up and he doesn’t want that. So he shuts down his computer, packs up his stuff, and slouches out the door. 

“And get some sleep!” Danny calls after him. “You look like a raccoon and I refuse to be seen with you like that!” 

Home for Stiles is a small apartment he’s lived in since he moved out of his dad’s house. It’s kind of tiny and really messy, because Stiles is very bad at cleaning up. And he has no one to clean for.

The whole relationship issue is a sore point to Stiles. He’s had a couple, but they always peter out after a few months. Stiles can be…hard to deal with, what with the fidgeting, his rapid-fire brain, and his intense devotion to his job. Stiles loves doing the police thing, but it’s not exactly conducive to long-lasting, healthy relationships. Not a lot of downtime, is the problem. 

And if Stiles thinks about it anymore, he’s going to get really depressed. So he forces the topic from his mind, flicks on the overhead light, and heads straight for the bathroom, shedding his clothes and bag on the way. 

After a long, hot shower, he settles at his kitchen table with some leftover takeout he’s heated up in the microwave and his laptop. 

Thing is, Stiles isn’t really good at the being-alone-with-just-his-thoughts thing. So, shoveling noodles into his mouth, he goes to The Pack’s Facebook page and explores. Reading their posts leads to him checking out their Facebook profiles—all private, but he looks through what he can. Which leads to him staring at Derek’s profile picture because good lord, was that an attractive face. Good shoulders, too. 

Which leads to him idly googling Derek and Laura Hale. Which leads to…oh crap.

Stiles grabs the nearest thing he can reach—his fork—and starts chewing on it nervously. Because it turns out, years and years ago, someone broke into the Hale house and set the whole thing on fire. The house burned down completely, taking all who were inside with it. Eleven people dead in total. Which is seriously awful, Jesus. 

And now Laura’s reaction to Maya’s death is making a lot more sense. In fact, everything makes a lot more sense: Laura and Derek must have retreated into the whole werewolf thing as a coping mechanism after most of their family was murdered!

Stiles feels bad for laughing at it now. Though it doesn’t explain why Scott and Lydia are also doing the supernatural roleplay thing. 

No longer in a researching mood, Stiles turns off his laptop and gets out his Star Wars DVD set. Time for a little science fiction to finish off the day.

.

Stiles bursts into work the next day, trying not to flail too much for fear of spilling coffee out of the two Starbucks cups he’s holding. He skids to a halt in front of Danny sitting at his desk, who slowly raises his eyes from his laptop to give Stiles a judgmental glare. 

“Morning, partner!” Stiles chirps, and thrusts a coffee cup at Danny, who takes it after a second and places it on his desk.

“Thanks,” Danny says dryly. “You’re chipper today.”

“Yup!” Stiles says, plopping down into his desk chair and letting his bag hit the ground. 

“And what brought this on?” Danny raises an eyebrow and finally condescends to pick up his coffee and take a sip.

“I dunno,” Stiles shrugs. “New day and all that, I guess.” He slurps up some coffee, and Danny rolls his eyes and goes back to ignoring him.

Which is just fine by Stiles, because he has things to think about.

Last night, when he’d finally dragged himself to bed, he’d lain there for a while and thought. Thought about what they had so far, about what he’d learned that day, about what he needed to do next. Then he’d make a mental list of tasks to do the next day—people to check out, threads to pick up. 

That usually helps when he gets like that, when his brain is chugging away at a hundred miles an hour and he can’t get it to stop long enough for him to get some sleep. That’s when he stops, organizes his thoughts, and makes a list of next steps he’ll accomplish, which successfully derails his brain.

This time was no different, and Stiles had fallen asleep within the next ten minutes.

So now he’s pumped full of coffee, with a full night’s sleep, and the whole of the police database at his fingertips. Things don’t seem so hopeless now. Stiles forgets sometimes, so bogged down in paperwork and bodies, that what he really loves is a challenge, a puzzle to pick at until it unravels and answers are revealed. 

Yeah. Stiles is going to kick this day’s butt. 

“Hey,” Danny says. 

Stiles startles and barely manages to avoid sloshing coffee over himself. “What?”

Danny rolls his eyes. “Calm down. Seriously, you’re being twitchier than normal.” He gestures at his computer screen. “I got some new info. And I figured it was time to plan out our strategy.”

“Good idea,” Stiles nods. “What have you got?”

“Forensics sent the results of those tests on the weird ash thing,” Danny says. “Apparently, it’s made from mountain ash.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow. 

“It’s a type of tree,” Danny supplies. “Also known as rowan. It’s common to Northern California.” He taps at his computer screen. “I did a bit of googling. There’s a lot of folklore and myths around it, weird stuff. Apparently it’s used as a type of ward against evil.”

Stiles frowns. “You think the killer put it in the apartment?”

Danny nods slowly. “Yeah. I think they’re also into the whole supernatural thing.”

“But why would the killer use something that wards against evil?” Stiles asks. “I mean, they’re doing all the evil in this case! Do they think Maya is the evil? Why?”

Danny groans. “Always more questions, and never any answers. Why do I do this job.” 

“For the great pay and opportunities to meet new people,” Stiles says, and dodges Danny’s slap with a laugh. “And for getting to spend time with me, your charming and wonderful partner!”

“Well, O charming and wonderful partner, get a move on and tell me what you’ve found, before I decide to cut my losses and give up for the day,” Danny says.

Stiles sobers up quickly after that, because telling Danny what he’s found means telling him about the Hale fire.

“Damn,” Danny says with a sigh. “That’s…damn.”

“Yup,” Stiles says. “So, I’m thinking we need to visit the Hales again. And check out Maya’s workplace to see if there’s any suspects we can drum up there, so—“

“Stiles,” Danny says, cutting Stiles off mid-ramble. “Why would we visit the Hales?”

“Because—because they had a fire! And Maya was set on fire!” Stile flails around a bit. “The two events are obviously connected! Can’t you see?”

Danny shakes his head. “Stiles, that house fire happened almost two decades ago. And they’ve only known Maya for a couple of months. Why on earth would there be any connection between the two?”

Stiles opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, feeling thrown. It had all seemed so clear to him. He hadn’t been expecting Danny to argue. 

“Maybe there is something—which I highly doubt—but it’s not reason enough to call them in and force them to relive that trauma,” Danny says reasonably. “If we don’t find any leads, we’ll investigate this. But for now, we’re shelving it.”

“You’re right,” Stiles says at last. “Sorry. My brain was doing a thing again and I got carried away.”

Danny smiles. “It’s alright. So you were saying about Maya’s workplace?”

.

The visit to Maya’s workplace is pretty quick—they ask around, spend some time talking to the receptionist, Maya’s boss, her co-workers, even the janitor. And they all say the same thing: Maya was lovely and polite and friendly; everyone got along with her, and no, no one had any idea why anyone would want to hurt her, let alone violently murder her.

Danny and Stiles leave after an hour or so and begin the trip back to the station.

“I don’t understand,” Stiles pouts, banging his head against the window a few times. “She was an angel, according to everyone who knew her! No enemies to speak of, no possible rivals or people who hated her!”

“It is weird,” Danny agrees, keeping his eyes on the road as he drives steadily. “There doesn’t seem to be any possible motivation.”

“Ugh, I hate this.” Stiles can feel his previous optimism slipping away by the second. 

“Y’know,” Danny says, starting to smirk. “I distinctly remember a certain member of the police force going on and on about how much he loves a challenge…”

“I’m too tired to enjoy challenges,” Stiles grumbles. 

Danny laughs at him, because Danny is an evil person who enjoys Stiles’ misery. Stiles ignores him the rest of the way back.

They’re just turning into the station parking lot when Stiles’ and Danny’s phones both start ringing at the same time. Stiles picks his up, listens, grunts, and hangs up.

“What is it?” Danny asks. He’d left the car running in the middle of the lot while Stiles talked.

“A body was discovered,” Stiles says.

“Why are they giving it to us?” 

“Because the victim was found burned to death in his apartment, with a circle of ash around his body,” Stiles says bluntly.

“Oh,” Danny says, and promptly makes a squealing U-turn and speeds off. 

.

“Oh, it was horrible,” quavers the hunched-over old lady who had introduced herself as Mrs. Brown and lived in the apartment next to Michael, the victim. “I was just coming back from picking up some groceries and as soon as the elevator opened I could smell…” She trails off and lets out a sob.

“Take your time,” Danny soothes, and Stiles nods uselessly next to him.

Mrs. Brown takes a deep breath and gathers herself up again. “I could smell burning. And I went to see what was wrong and saw all the smoke coming out of—the door—“ She takes another gasping breath. “And I opened it—it wasn’t locked—and I saw…” Her hand flies to her mouth and she lets out a wheezing moan.

“And you called 911 right away?” Danny prompts gently.

Mrs. Brown nods jerkily. “Yes, I didn’t know what else to do, and—and Michael wasn’t moving…”

“Thank you,” Danny says. “You did the right thing.”

“No one else was around?” Stiles cuts in. “No one else heard?”

“I was out,” Mrs. Brown says, “And—and the Coopers, who live across from Michael, are away for the week. And Lisa—her apartment is right next to me—she’s at work.” 

“Ok,” Danny says, jotting that down in his notebook. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Brown. We’ll contact you if we need any more information from you. My partner can help you pick up your things.” He flashes her a smile.

Stiles sends a glare in Danny’s direction, but crouches down accordingly and starts gathering up the groceries Mrs. Brown had dropped earlier, when she’d discovered the body. 

Danny leaves Stiles to it, heading into Michael’s apartment to consult with forensics.

Stiles bends forward to retrieve a cabbage that had rolled into the corner. 

“Such a tragedy,” Mrs. Brown murmurs, her voice thick with tears. “Why would anyone do such a thing?”

Stiles piles a loaf of bread on top of the cabbage in his arms, and stands up. “That’s what we’re here to find out, ma’am.”

“I just don’t understand,” Mrs. Brown continues, unlocking her door and leading Stiles into her kitchen. “Michael was such a sweet man. Always ready to help me around the apartment if I needed it. Always polite. How could someone do this?”

Stiles frowns. “Did he ever have any fights? Arguments? Hostile encounters?” 

Mrs. Brown shakes her head. “No, no! He wasn’t like that at all.” 

“Huh.” Stiles puts down the groceries on the counter, still frowning. He looks at Mrs. Brown. “Thank you once again for your help.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Brown says.

Stiles heads into Michael’s apartment. The body is lying in the middle of the living room, curled up and blackened beyond all recognition. The scent of soot and burned flesh hangs heavily in the air. 

Danny is crouching over the body, brow furrowed. 

“What’s up?” Stiles asks, squatting down next to him. 

“Look,” Danny says, pointing. “The circle of powder around the body.”

Stiles looks. There is indeed a thin line of dark powder sprinkled in a neat, perfect circle, enclosing the body within its confines. “What about it?”

“Look closer,” Danny says. “What looks weird about it?”

Stiles frowns but tries again. The powder looks like the same used in Maya’s apartment—it must be mountain ash as well. The circle is kind of scarily perfect, and the body is lying in the centre of the circle, a little bit away from the ash, which is weird because—

“The circle!” Stiles says. “It’s completely undisturbed!”

“Exactly,” Danny nods. “The killer must have put that circle there before they killed Michael, because they were gone by the time Mrs. Brown found him—”

“—And Michael was burning to death,” Stiles says excitedly. “He would have been thrashing around. He should have messed up the powder circle—”

“—But he didn’t,” Danny finishes. “So what does that tell us?”

They fall into silence, staring down at the body. Danny shifts over to let someone from forensics pass by. 

“Nothing,” Stiles says at last. “It tells us nothing.”

“Yeah,” Danny sighs, after a moment. “Dammit.”

“Come on, partner,” Stiles says, putting an arm around Danny’s shoulder. “Let’s go fulfill all the stereotypes about cops and get a donut.”

.

Two donuts later, Stiles and Danny are back in the office and slumped at their computers, Stiles checking out Michael on the police database, and Danny scrolling through his social media.

“Lived in New York his entire life,” Stiles calls to Danny.

“No Twitter, but he’s got Facebook,” Danny returns.

“Got a charge for public indecency once,” Stiles say. “Was found wandering completely naked in Central Park early one morning.”

“A lot of friends on Facebook,” Danny shoots back, “But—whoa.”

“What is it?” 

When Danny doesn’t reply, Stiles pops his head out from behind his computer screen. “Seriously, what is it?”

Danny is staring at his computer screen, frowning slightly. “He’s part of a Facebook group called ‘Supernaturals of New York’.”

Stiles blinks.

“The group is locked,” Danny continues. “But he made a reference to the full moon on his timeline, so…I assume we have another werewolf on our hands. And…” He looks pained. “He’s friends with the Hales, Scott McCall, and Lydia Martin.”

Stiles takes a moment to process it. Then he lets out a laugh. “No connection, Stiles!” he says, mimicking Danny’s tone. “No need to check this lead out! HA!”

“This might just be a coincidence,” Danny says, his tone disgruntled. 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles says, “and my grandmother is a fish. Come on, Danny! Two people burned to death, with weird mystical ash sprinkled everywhere, and both of them think they’re supernatural beings. Doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me!”

“Well, it’s not like we have any other leads,” Danny shrugs. “Looks like we’re going to visit the Hales after all.”

.

Derek and Laura live in an apartment on the fourth floor of a building near the edge of downtown. Danny and Stiles don’t talk until they’re in the rickety elevator, traveling very slowly up.

“How are we going to play this?” Stiles asks at last, as the elevator creaks past the second floor.

“I have no idea,” Danny replies, “but I figured, just let me do the talking.”

Stiles would protest, but he and Danny both know that Stiles is very good at rambling, and not so good at tact. Or politeness. So he nods and follows Danny out once the doors slide open on the fourth floor.

It’s Laura who answers the door, looking taken aback once she sees who it is. “Is something wrong?”

“We have some questions to ask you,” Danny says, his tone brisk. “May we come in?”

Laura hesitates, and for a second Stiles doesn’t think she’ll let them in, but she glances at Stiles’ police badge and finally stands aside. 

The inside of the apartment is bright, with comfortable-looking furniture, bookshelves lining the walls, and lots of open space. Laura gestures to a squashy sofa and sits down herself on a massive armchair. 

“What is it?” she asks as Stiles and Danny perch on the sofa. 

“Do you kn—“ Stiles starts, and stops when Danny shoots him a look.

“There’s been a development in the case, Ms. Hale” Danny says.

“Laura,” Laura corrects. “And what do you mean, a development?”

“Earlier today,” Danny starts, “There was—” 

“Laura?” comes a voice from the hallway, and Stiles glances up to see Derek Hale in all his gorgeous glory, his eyebrows scrunched down in a look of confusion. “What are they doing here?”

“Ah, Mr. Hale,” Danny says smoothly. “Sit down. You should hear this too.”

Derek glances at his sister, who shrugs minutely. After a moment, he walks over and slowly sits on the arm of Laura’s chair.

“As I was saying,” Danny says. “Earlier today, someone else was found murdered in the same fashion as Maya.”

“What?” Laura gasps, her normally confident voice shaken. Next to her, Derek presses his lips together.

“The reason why we’re—“ Danny continues, but is cut off by Laura.

“Who was it?” she demands.

Stiles and Danny exchange a look. “Michael Cooper,” Stiles says at last.

Laura’s eyes go wide and Derek reaches out to her, settling a hand on her shoulder. 

“He was found in his apartment by his neighbour. By that time, it was too late,” Stiles says. 

“Burned?” Derek’s face has turned sickly white underneath his stubble. 

“Yes,” Danny says simply.

Laura lets out a quiet, shuddering breath then draws in another, reaching up to cover Derek’s hand on her shoulder with her own hand. “So why are you telling us?”

“Because Maya thought she was a supernatural creature, and she was burned to death. And because Michael thought he was a supernatural creature and was burned to death,” Stiles says. “The only thing they have in common apart from that? They were both connected to you guys online.”

Laura is very still.

“You must know something,” Danny says. “We’re trying to figure this out, and you’re the only link between both of them.”

Laura’s face is still set, but her eyes flick down for just a second, and Stiles knows they’ve caught her.

“And…” Stiles says, leaning forward. “I can’t help but wonder if this could possibly have any connection with that fire all those years ago? You never did find who did it, right?” 

And just like that, Laura completely closes off. 

Stiles can feel Danny’s glare burning into the side of his head, can almost hear Danny’s voice yelling at him about tact and timing. But he ignores it and focuses his gaze straight at Laura. 

“That has nothing to do with this,” Laura states, her voice flat. 

“Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t,” Stiles says. “But I know you’re hiding something. And I’m going to find out what it is.”

“There’s nothing to hide,” Laura says, enunciating each word. “We’re werewolves. That’s all.”

“Come on!” Stiles says exasperatedly. “We all know werewolves aren’t really real. So give up the act already, and tell us the truth.”

Laura’s eyes are stone, her back ramrod straight. “We may not be able to transform or have superpowers,” she says. “But we are werewolves, inside.”

Stiles stares coolly back. 

“So you have nothing that can help us?” Danny says at last.

“No,” Laura and Derek say at the same time.

“Alright,” Danny says, standing up. “Thank you for your time. If you do think of anything, you know where to find us.”

Stiles remains seated, still staring down Laura.

“Stiles,” Danny says, warning in his tone.

Stiles goes.

“Really good work in there,” Danny says once they’re down the hall and waiting for the elevator to creak its way up to their floor. “Seriously, great job with the tact thing and keeping your cool and—“

“Shut up,” Stiles says, but it’s without any heat. He stabs at the down button for the elevator.

“They’re just your ordinary wack jobs,” Danny says. “I told you there was nothing.”

“I don’t believe it,” Stiles says, as the elevator finally arrives with a ding. “They’re hiding something. I know it.”

He ignores Danny’s extravagant sigh and remains silent all the way back to the station.

.

It’s almost 10 that night when Stiles, all alone in his apartment after Danny told him to go home and chill out a bit, decides he will not, in fact, chill out a bit.

He’s had this weird little niggle at the back of his head, ever since they visited the Hales. A part of his brain waving a little flag and yelling, “This is important! Don’t forget this!” Because the thing is, Stiles knows he’s right about the Hales, knows they’re hiding something. He knows it down to his bones. All his instincts are yelling at him that whatever it is, it’s really important and he should get on it immediately. 

So he gives in, throws on a hoodie, and gets into his car. 

He’s going to see someone else from the Pack. Not the Hales—that ship has sailed and they’re obviously not going to give anything up. Stiles is going to see Scott McCall—nice, friendly Scott McCall, with that great smile and soft demeanour. Scott will tell him things, Stiles is sure. 

Stiles is also sure that Danny is going to kill him, for investigating on his own and not telling anyone and a thousand other things that Danny will inevitably lecture him about. But Stiles doesn’t care right now, because he has a fake werewolf to interview and a mystery to figure out.

Scott’s house, when Stiles arrives, is pitch black and the curtains are all drawn. Stiles knocks several times on the door, and waits. Nothing. He knocks again. Still nothing. He frowns and presses his ear against the door, listening as hard as he can. 

There’s no sound from inside, no footsteps approaching the door. Stiles is about to give up, when he hears a muffled noise. He freezes and holds his breath. 

A dull thud. 

Stiles contemplates what to do for a split second. Then he reaches for his gun and very quietly tries the doorknob.

It’s locked. Stiles hisses out a curse and moves around the side of the house, scanning the walls. There—his eye catches on a window that’s not quite fully closed. Stiles puts his gun away and slowly raises the window. He hoists himself in but leaves the window open, in case he needs a getaway.

Oh God. Danny’s going to kill him. 

There’s another thud somewhere inside the house, louder this time. Stiles pushes aside all panicking about Danny and moves out of the dark room he’s in and into the hall, as sneakily as he knows how.

There’s nothing in the hall and nothing in the first two rooms Stiles peeks into. Then he walks into the living room.

It takes Stiles just a second to take in the scene: Scott McCall on the floor, lying in the centre of a ring of powder; the dark liquid staining his clothes and the empty gasoline bottle lying nearby; the figure leaning over Scott. Stiles catches a glimpse of long, shapely legs and carefully curled long hair, and then he’s moving forward, gun out, barking at the figure to turn around with her hands up—

And the figure’s back stiffens and she grabs the gasoline bottle and runs away and Stiles moves to chase after her, but Scott lets out a moan through the rag stuffed into his mouth and Stiles stops. Because there was one detail he missed about the scene. A pretty important detail as it turns out. 

Scott’s eyes are glowing. And when Stiles hurries over and removes the gag, Scott’s mouth is full of fangs. The shape of his face is distorted, hair growing thickly out of the sides. He looks animalistic....monstrous.

“So I guess werewolves really are real, huh,” Stiles says weakly.

Scott squeezes his eyes shut, breathes deeply, and ever so slowly the hair and bulging forehead melt away, leaving the open, human face Stiles remembers. When Scott opens his eyes, they’re plain brown again, not the glowing gold of before.

“Thanks,” Scott says finally, his voice rough. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says. He sits back on his haunches, vaguely noticing that he’s messed up the ash circle, whole sections of it completely dusted away. 

A tinny ringtone breaks the silence. Stiles startles, looking around for the source.

“Over—over there,” Scott says, still catching his breath. He jerks his head over to a couch by the wall. 

Stiles snags the cellphone. “It’s Laura. You want me to answer?”

Scott nods weakly, lying back on the floor with a groan.

As soon as Stiles picks up, Laura starts talking, words tumbling over each other. “Oh, thank God, I was worried Kate had gotten to you, I was just checking up—“

“Laura,” Stiles interrupts. 

Laura immediately falls silent.

“It’s Stiles? The detective?” Stiles says awkwardly. “Listen…maybe you should get over here? Um, something happened and—”

There’s an immediate click and a dial tone starts. Stiles looks at the phone in disgust. “She hung up on me!” 

“She does that,” Scott rasps from the floor. “She’s just worried.”

When Laura arrives, she heads straight for Scott, completely ignoring Stiles. She settles down next to Scott, who’s moved to the sofa, and starts to smooth his hair away from his face, talking too quietly for Stiles to hear.

Derek is right behind her, but he instead moves over to where Stiles is leaning against the wall. 

“Hey,” Derek says. His face looks more nonthreatening than Stiles remembers. 

Stiles doesn’t say anything.

“Thanks,” Derek says at last. “You saved his life.”

“It was an accident,” Stiles says. “I wasn’t supposed to come here.”

“Lucky for him you did,” Derek says. 

For some reason, Stiles can’t deal with the softness in Derek’s voice, the fear and gratitude in the lines by his eyes. So he looks away and searches wildly for something else to say. “So…werewolves are real. You were lying.”

“Well, technically, we didn’t,” Derek says, and Stiles can just make out what might be a tinge of humour in his voice. 

“So you’re a werewolf,” Stiles says, ignoring that. “And Scott’s a werewolf. And Laura. And that girl, Lydia…she’s really a banshee?”

“Yes,” Derek says. He’s looking over at his sister and Scott, now hugging tightly. 

“This is insane,” Stiles observes. He lets out a slightly hysterical-sounding laugh.

“You alright?” Derek is looking at him again. “You’re shaking.”

“Am I?” Stiles says vaguely.

Laura and Scott are done hugging now, and they’re both heading over to where Stiles and Derek are standing. Laura has an intent look on her face that isn’t making Stiles feel any better. 

“Stiles,” she says. “Thank you.”

“Right,” Stiles says. 

“And I’m sorry we had to lie to you,” she goes on. “It was necessary. We didn’t know if we could trust you. But the truth has come out and I suppose you have questions. I’m willing to answer them now.”

Stiles does have questions, lots of them. It’s just hard to think of them through the thrumming in his ears.

“I have to go,” he says, and his voice sounds higher-pitched than normal. 

“Stiles?” Laura looks confused.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” Stiles says, all in a rush, and he dashes to the front door. The last thing he hears before he shuts the door is Derek’s voice calling, “Stiles, wait—“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up soon, hopefully.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://moosetifying.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles is probably in shock and definitely shouldn’t be driving, but he can’t stay there. So into his car he goes, driving on autopilot while he tries to think. 

He can’t. His brain feels like it’s playing one long, loud dial tone. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed before he’s pulling over and turning off his car. But when he gets out of his car and sees where he is, he has to smile.

Because he’s at his dad’s house. That’s always where he ends up going when he’s upset or lonely, so it figures that’s where his brain would take him while he was on autopilot. This small house in the suburbs, with neatly mown grass and bright curtains, where his favourite person in the world has always lived. 

The door is locked—it’s late and Stiles’ dad is probably already asleep, or on his way to bed. Stiles gets out his key and opens the door, trying to be as quiet as possible. He locks the door firmly behind him and then just stands there for a moment.

“Stiles?”

Stiles lets out a breath as his father comes out of the kitchen toward him, a little wrinkled, a little stout around the middle despite Stiles’ best efforts, and so unquestionably dad-like that Stiles’ eyes start to sting a little. “Hey, dad. What are you doing up?”

“Never mind about me,” his dad frowns. “Are you ok? You look exhausted.”

“Yeah, well,” Stiles tries to smile. “Long day at work.”

“I know what those are like,” his dad nods, face crinkling in sympathy.

Stiles knows he does. His dad has worked on the force since before Stiles was born and it’s only now that he’s getting up there in age that he’s started slowing down a little, working at his desk mostly rather than out in the field. 

Stiles doesn’t know what his face is doing but his father is looking more concerned as the seconds pass and Stiles remains standing quietly in place.

“Come on,” his father says, breaking the silence. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

His dad makes him a sandwich. Stiles slumps down at the kitchen table and watches as his dad bustles around, toasting bread and slicing and spreading. Finally, his father sets a plate down on the table and sits with a sigh. “Here you go. Peanut butter and banana.”

“My favourite,” Stiles says, staring down at it. He hadn’t thought he was hungry, but he hasn’t eaten in a while and the sandwich looks really appetizing…

“So what happened to get you all shaken up?” His dad asks once Stiles is halfway through the sandwich. 

Stiles puts it down and wipes his hands nervously on his shirt. “It’s a case, so I can’t really tell you…”

His dad doesn’t say anything. Just listens. 

“It’s a pretty bad case,” Stiles says in a low voice. “A hard one. No leads. And then I thought I found something. And…” He swallows. “I had everything I thought I knew completely shaken up. Just…the way I looked at the world and understood things…turns out it was all wrong.” He shakes his head. “It’s hard to explain…”

He takes another bite of the sandwich. It’s something for his hands to do.

"I know you can’t tell me,” Stiles’ dad says at last. “Case confidentiality and all that. But you look in no state to be driving around, especially at this time of night. And I’ve always got your room ready for you. So finish up your food and then head up to bed. Things will feel better in the morning. Sound good, kid?”

“Yeah, dad,” Stiles says, feeling bone-deep exhaustion, “That sounds perfect.”

And it is perfect, kind of. Stiles puts on an old T-shirt of his dad’s and settles underneath his covers. The shapes of his old room are familiar and comforting in the smudgy darkness. Stiles lays there and feels the tension slowly seeping out of him, one muscle at a time, until he’s boneless on his bed, breathing even and eyes shut. 

Then he takes out his phone and googles werewolves, squinting against the light his screen is throwing off in the dark. He takes in the blurry pictures of monstrous snarling forms, the vague legends, the conspiracy-theory blog posts, until he can't handle it anymore and he has to shut his phone off and lie back again.

He thinks. He thinks about how Scott had looked, eyes glowing and face misshapen. He thinks about how there really is someone out there who hates these creatures so much she’s burning them. He thinks about the name Kate, the one Laura had mentioned, and wonders who she is. 

And when it all gets too much, Stiles thinks about his father. 

It’s funny, since he seems made for New York, but Stiles’ dad is not from there. He’s actually from a small town in California. It was Stiles’ mom who was a New York native, who managed to woo his father into travelling across the country and settling down. And then Stiles’ mom died, but his father remained, a fixed point in a buzzing, ever-changing city, solid and steady and there, in that small house in the suburbs. And Stiles is so grateful, grateful that his dad is here and has kept his childhood bedroom as it was and that he won’t ask any questions or judge him. It’s just what Stiles needs.

He’s asleep within minutes.

The next morning dawns bright and cheerful, sunlight streaming in through the curtains. Stiles is up early enough that he’s in no rush, taking a long, luxuriously hot shower, and carefully shaving. He wipes the last of the water from his face and then just stands there for a long moment. 

So werewolves are real. Banshees are real. The whole realm of the supernatural isn’t just fiction anymore. 

“The question is, Stiles buddy, can you take the heat?” Stiles stares into the pair of haunted, brown eyes reflected back in the mirror. He shoves a hand through his hair. “Guess you’re going to just have to.”

Downstairs, his dad hums at the kitchen stove, a bowl of batter on the nearby counter and a batch of pancakes already sizzling in the pan.

“Dad,” Stiles says reprovingly. “What happened to eating healthy?”

“I made an exception,” Stiles’ dad says, and flips a pancake. He flicks a glance over at Stiles. “You’re looking better.”

“I guess I just needed a good night’s sleep,” Stiles says. He sits down at the kitchen table. “Need any help?”

“I got this,” his dad says. 

They fall into a comfortable silence, familiar after years of just the two of them in the house. Stiles’ dad hums and flips and pours, while Stiles watches, hypnotized by the confident movements, and plans.

He needs to find out more, before he can do anything. He needs to sit the Hales down and get them to fill him in on absolutely everything—everything they were probably going to tell him before he freaked out last night. Once he’s got a full idea of the whole situation, then he’ll consider how to break it to Danny. 

He feels better having some semblance of a plan, and when his dad sets down a platter of steaming pancakes, he digs in with enthusiasm. 

A last thank-you and hug to his dad and Stiles is out the door. First stop is his apartment, where he changes into clean work clothes and picks up his briefcase. Then it’s to the office, a little late but nothing Danny will find suspect. 

Danny has them going through records of everyone Michael, the second victim, knew—government records, police records, anything that may give them a lead. Stiles does it without complaint, feeling a bit guilty about letting Danny go off in the wrong direction while Stiles has answers within reach. 

Not guilty enough to break the whole werewolf situation to Danny, though. 

It’s tedious busywork that somehow eats up the hours, and soon enough Danny has decided they should head home a little early. Stiles nods eagerly, hoping Danny will chalk it up to his usual restlessness, and the moment Danny’s fully out the door, Stiles immediately calls the Hales.

“Yeah?” It’s Derek. 

“Uh—hey,” Stiles says, stumbling a bit. He wasn’t expecting Derek to answer. “It’s me, uh—“

“I know it’s you, Stiles,” Derek says. Stiles can almost hear the eye roll through the phone.

“Right,” Stiles says. “Anyway, sorry for freaking out on you last night—“

“Understandable,” Derek interrupts.

“Right,” Stiles says again. “I just…I’m ready to listen now. And I think you owe me some answers.”

Derek is silent for a moment. “Alright,” he finally says. “Come over to our apartment. We can talk there.”

“Great!” Stiles grabs his bag and stands up. “I’ll be right over.” And he hangs up. 

.

The person who answers the door is neither Derek nor Laura. Instead, it’s a woman who looks similar to them, tall, dark haired, ridiculously gorgeous, and with really intense eyebrows.

“Uh…” Stiles says dumbly.

“Are you the police guy?” The woman says. She gives him an unimpressed look.

“Detective, actually,” Stiles corrects, and ignores the imperious eyebrow raise she gives him at that. “Can I come in?”

“Alright,” the woman says and stands aside. 

The apartment is empty as far as Stiles can see. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the living room, adjusting his grip on his bag, as the woman gives him a long, assessing stare from foot to head. Then she smirks. 

“Derek!” she yells out, startling Stiles. “The hot cop is here!”

At once, Stiles hears hurried footsteps and Derek bursts into the living room. “Who, Stiles?”

He skids to a halt once he notices Stiles in the middle of the room. Stiles waves weakly.

“You never mentioned he was this cute,” the woman says. Her smirk grows wider when Derek glares at her. 

“Go away, Cora,” he growls.

Cora throws her hands up in surrender and walks off down the hall, letting out what Stiles has to call a cackle before shutting a door behind her. 

“I see you’ve met my little sister,” Derek says.

“Sister?” Stiles says. “She wasn’t in the Facebook group.”

“Not generally a social media fan,” Derek says with a small smile.

(Stiles can’t help noticing how smiling, even the slightest curve up of Derek’s lips, makes Derek’s face look softer, his eyes crinkling up—and Stiles is not noticing, nope, not him.)

Silence falls. Derek looks just as awkward as Stiles feels. He keeps staring up at Stiles and then hastily dropping his gaze to the floor when he notices Stiles looking back.

"So..." Stiles says into the rapidly congealing silence. "Werewolves, huh?"

Derek nods slowly. "Yup."

"I've been reading up on you guys," Stiles says. "Werewolves, I mean." 

"And?"

"Kinda hard to figure out what's real or not," Stiles admits. "It all sounds so...crazy."

"You're taking it pretty well," Derek says, his eyes—dammit—crinkling up again. 

"Yeah, well." Stiles shrugs. "I knew something was up. Just didn't know what, exactly."

“Well, you found it out,” Derek says. “So, what do you want to know?”

Stiles opens and closes his mouth several times as he tries to single out one question from all the stuff his brain is throwing at him. "Super powers?

“Yup,” Derek says promptly. “Strength, enhanced senses, increased stamina…”

“And the ability to sprout hair and claws once a month,” Stiles adds, trying to ignore the ‘stamina’ bit.

“Actually, we can transform whenever we want,” Derek says. “A full moon just means we have a lot less control.”

“Okay,” Stiles nods. He casts around for another question. “So banshees are a thing too. What do they do?”

Derek hesitates before answering. “That’s kind of a complicated answer. And I was going to make dinner…”

“You cook?” Stiles is going to revolt. This guy is too much. 

“A little,” Derek admits. “Here, let’s head to the kitchen. I can answer all your questions and you can help me out. Okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles says. He trails Derek as they walk out of the living room and into the kitchen. “So do banshees actually scream? Are vampires a thing too? What else is out there?”

.

Almost an hour later, Derek and Stiles finally sit down at the table, loaded plates in hand.

“—It acts like a barrier,” Derek is explaining, “But only to supernatural creatures.”

“That’s why I could get past the ring of ash?” Stiles asks. 

“Exactly.” 

“That explains so much,” Stiles says, thumping his fork against the table. “That’s why Maya couldn’t get the door open. And why Michael couldn’t get out of the circle.” He shakes his head and looks down at his plate. “This looks amazing, Derek.”

Derek actually ducks his head shyly, which is too freaking adorable for Stiles to handle. “It’s just pasta,” he mumbles. “Easy.”

Stiles has his mouth open to answer when he hears the front door opening. Then Laura’s voice rings out. “I’m home! Hey, Derek, what’s for di—“ She pokes her head into the kitchen and blinks. “Oh.”

“Laura.” Derek stands up. “How—“

“What’s he doing here?” Laura asks quietly, stepping fully into the kitchen. “You didn’t tell me he was coming.”

“It was more of a spontaneous thing,” Derek says. “He called me and said he was ready to talk. So we did.”

“You told him?” Laura snaps. “I can’t believe this. How much did you say?”

“Almost everything,” Derek says. “He deserves to know. And look at him. He’s fine!” 

“I’m fine!” Stiles agrees.

“This isn’t about him handling it,” Laura barks. “This is about protecting ourselves! Keeping our secret safe!”

“He saved Scott’s life,” Derek says quietly. “We owe him.”

Laura and Derek lock gazes for a tense moment. Then Laura lets out a frustrated huff and looks away. “Fine.”

“So does that mean you can keep explaining things?” Stiles ventures. “Because I still have a lot of questions.”

Laura and Derek roll their eyes in perfect sync. 

“Eat your pasta,” Derek says, sitting down again. 

Laura loads a plate for herself and joins them.

“What about Cora?” Stiles asks. “Does she want—“

“I was just waiting for you guys to stop fighting,” Cora says from behind Stiles. 

“Holy god!” Stiles startles and nearly tips his plate. “Where did you come from?”

“Werewolf, remember?” Cora smirks, sauntering over to the stove and grabbing a plate.

They eat quietly for a while, the only sounds in the kitchen coming from the clinking of forks against plates and chewing. Soon enough, though, Stiles’ foot starts jiggling and then the fingers of his left hand start tapping and he shifts around in his seat.

Laura slams her fork down. “Oh, alright. You can ask. Anything to stop you fidgeting.”

Derek tries to hide his smirk behind his fork. 

“Who’s Kate?” Stiles asks immediately, and Derek’s face completely shuts off.

The kitchen is suddenly still. Cora freezes over her plate, flicking a glance over at Derek, then Laura, then back at Stiles.

“Where did you hear that name?” Laura asks softly.

“You said it,” Stiles says. “When you called Scott’s house yesterday. You said you were worried that Kate had gotten to him.”

Another hushed moment.

“Kate was the one who set that fire,” Laura says. “The one that killed our family.”

Stiles sucks in a breath. 

“She comes from a family of hunters,” Laura says. “Derek told you about them, right?”

Stiles nods.

“They have a code,” Laura says. “Only to hunt those who have harmed others. Well, she broke it.”

Derek is looking down at the table.

“Why—“ Stiles has to clear his throat. “Why was she never arrested?”

Laura lets out a harsh laugh. “What, we just walk in there and accuse her? With no motive they’ll believe, no proof that she did it?”

Stiles can’t argue with that. “And she’s back?” he says quietly.

“Yes.” It’s Derek who’s answering this time, his voice bitter. “She must have found out that there were some of us who survived and decided to finish the job.”

“So all those murders…” Stiles trails off.

“She’s showing us she’s found us,” Derek says. “Trying to scare us, to feel like she’s getting closer and closer. She always did like the anticipation.”

“Psychopath,” Cora snarls. 

“Whoa.” Stiles’ head is swimming. “This is insane.”

“Yup,” Laura says, with a small humourless smile. 

“We—You have to tell someone!” Stiles says. “We have to do something, before she actually does kill one of you guys! She almost got Scott!”

But Laura, Cora, and Derek are all shaking their heads. 

“What, no? Why no?” Stiles says, flailing a bit. “Yes! This is a thing we should do!”

“Absolutely not,” Laura says firmly. “We cannot let our secret out.”

She looks immovable, and Stiles gives up on trying to change her mind on that. Instead, he bites his lip, his mind whirring. “Alright. I’ll cut you a deal. We do tell Danny—that’s my partner, by the way. But we don’t mention the werewolf thing. We just say you suspect it’s her. But we’ve got to tell him, alright?”

Laura glances at Derek and Cora, who both purse their lips. She looks back at Stiles and nods grudgingly. “Fine. But the werewolf thing stays out of it. You say anything, even by accident, and I rip your throat out with my teeth.”

“Holy—“ Stiles flinches back in his seat, waving his arms. “There will be no throat-ripping or violence of any sort! I can keep my mouth shut. Please do the same with your werewolf fangs.” 

Cora is doing the evil smirk thing again. Laura is doing it too. Derek rolls his eyes and stands up. “Time for you to go, I think.”

Stiles jumps to his feet. He’s definitely ready to leave. “I’ll call you tomorrow to come into the station. Danny’ll want to talk to you.”

“Good night, Stiles,” Laura says. 

Derek ushers him to the door and hands him his bag. 

“Thank you for the pasta,” Stiles says. “And for answering all my questions.”

“Sorry about my sisters,” Derek replies. He’s doing the crinkly-eye smile thing again. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Stiles repeats back and is out the door. Strangely enough, it actually does feel like it’s been a good night.

.

So Stiles knows everything now. The mystery is solved. Yay.

Now all he’s got to figure out is how to tell Danny that. 

It takes him longer than he expects. He goes to bed still thinking, and when he wakes up he still has no idea. He tries role playing with a shampoo bottle in the shower, but it just degenerates into shampoo-Danny accusing him of fabricating evidence, Stiles letting slip about the werewolf thing, and loofah-Laura violently murdering him.

Yeah. Not a good scene.

He has the start of a script by the time he drives over to work, but the moment he walks in the door and Danny looks up with a “morning”, his mind totally blanks out.

“Um,” he says.

Danny is used to ignoring Stiles’ weird moments, so he just goes back to his computer, leaving Stiles still standing there.

Stiles carefully sits and puts his bag down. Then he takes a deep breath. “Danny.” 

“Yes, Stiles?” Danny asks, not looking up.

“I may have done something,” Stiles says cautiously.

Danny’s head immediately flies up. “What kind of something, exactly?”

“Well, I kinda—sorta—found out who the killer is?” Stiles tries a smile. 

Danny’s eyes narrow. “Explain.”

Stiles takes a moment to think about how exactly he’s going to phrase this. “So…remember when we visited the Hales?”

“Obviously. It was two days ago.” Danny communicates just how unimpressed he is with an eyebrow raise.

“Right!” Stiles says. “Well, I went home after. And I just couldn’t stop thinking about it all. So I decided to drive over to Scott McCall’s house.”

“Seriously?” Danny throws his hands up in exasperation. “What about backup, hmm?” 

“Yeah, but wait!” Stiles says. “I went there and it was all really quiet. I thought no one was home, but then I started hearing sounds. So I broke in—“

“Broke in—“ 

“Never mind that, the important part is that I caught the killer in the act!” Stiles says triumphantly. “Slap bang in the middle of the living room, with Scott all tied up and the lighter ready to go.”

Danny is quiet.

“She got away, but Scott is safe. And the Hales finally told me everything,” Stiles finishes up. He grins at Danny. 

“She,” Danny says at last, frowning slightly. “You said she.”

“That’s what you got from all that?” Stiles asks. “Yes, the killer is a she. But more importantly, I have answers. The Hales are willing to cooperate.” 

“Explain,” Danny says again, and Stiles does, leaving out all mention of the supernatural side of things.

“So Scott was able to identify her when she attacked him?” Danny asks, once Stiles is done.

"Yup!" Stiles says. "And then I convinced the Hales to finally tell all, since I was all involved anyway. So they did."

"And why did it take you two freaking days to tell me all this?" Danny demands.

Stiles winces. "Ah. Yeah...Well, the Hales are pretty freaked. And you saw how private they are—it took me actually meeting the killer to get them to talk. Convincing them to go to the police with this stuff was really hard!"

Danny squints suspiciously but finally nods slowly. "Okay, then."

"Great!" Stiles says. "So can we get to the actual capturing-the-killer part? Before she kills anyone else?"

“Yes,” Danny says, “Yes, we can.”

.

The first thing Danny does is call the Hales in and question them, slowly and exactingly, covering every detail. The story they tell matches up to what Stiles had said, so after an hour, Danny is satisfied and lets up. He leaves them in the interrogation room with complimentary coffee and snacks, and joins Stiles outside the room, by the one-way mirror looking in.

“Seems legit,” Danny mutters after a few moments of silence. 

Stiles scowls. “Good. Now can we get to the killer part?” He doesn’t look away from the window, focusing on how Derek is managing to drink coffee and scowl at the same time. “There’s a killer out there targeting them. She killed their entire family and she’s trying to do it again. They’re freaked out already. The last thing they need is a cop who refuses to believe them.”

“I know I was a dick,” Danny sighs. “But I needed to know, okay? Needed to see for myself. And,” he adds, “Now we can put this all in the evidence trail, make it all official.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, his irritation fading a bit. 

“So they’re being targeted,” Danny says. 

“She got scarily close, man,” Stiles says quietly. “She almost got one of their best friends.”

Danny is silent for a moment, and Stiles turns away from the window to look at him. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking…“ Danny starts. “I’m thinking we can’t leave them alone.” He faces Stiles, and Stiles can see the set mouth and steady gaze that means Danny is back in control and has a plan. 

“Here’s how it’s going to go,” Danny says. “They're going to need a protective detail at all times, while we at the station work to track this…Kate, down.”

“I can get behind that,” Stiles nods. “Who’re you going to assign?”

“Actually, I was thinking you should do it.” 

“Me?” Stiles asks. It doesn’t look like Danny is kidding.

“Yes,” Danny says. “They trusted you enough to open up to you. Something tells me the only person they’ll handle hanging around with them is you.” 

Stiles nods again, slower this time. “Okay.”

“You follow them home, you sleep and eat there,” Danny says. “Try to keep them in their apartment, no errands or shopping trips.”

“And you’ll be here tracking Kate down?” Stiles asks. 

“I’ll work as fast as I can,” Danny answers.

“Sounds good,” Stiles says. He looks back at the window. Inside, Laura, Derek, and Cora are talking together, huddled close over the table. Stiles sighs. “I’d better go break it to them.”

.

Predictably, Laura, Derek, and Cora don't react well to the news that they’re going to be followed around for the foreseeable future. Or rather, Laura throws a hissy fit while Derek scowls fiercely and Cora silently glares. Stiles is strangely cheered when Derek’s scowl lessens once he hears Stiles will be the one following them. Laura is still pissed but she subsides. 

“Are we free to go?” she asks snidely. 

“Yup!” Stiles replies brightly, just to see Laura scowl. “Let me just grab my bag and we can go.”

He heads off, trying not to laugh as he hears Laura let loose a sharp swear from behind him. 

“This is going to be torture,” she mutters.

“C’mon,” Stiles hears Derek say quietly as Stiles bustles around his desk, packing his bag and pretending not to eavesdrop. 

“They’re trying to help,” Derek continues in an undertone. “It’s more than we hoped for. So relax, please.”

“Alright,” Laura says, after a moment. “Sorry. I’m just really stressed. And that detective kid is a little sh—“

“Done!” Stiles interrupts cheerfully. He holds up his bag to show. “Ready to roll?”

Cora and Laura roll their eyes simultaneously. Derek shakes his head, but his lips quirk up a little at the sides. “Ready,” he replies.

Laura, Derek, and Cora drive home in a dark Camaro, all sleek lines and glittering paint. Stiles feels distinctly not cool in his own car right behind them.

“How is this not cool?” he mutters to himself. “This is a detective car. It’s got flashing lights and everything. Their car doesn’t have flashing lights.”

The Camaro accelerates with a growl he can hear from inside his car, and Stiles scowls. “You may look like sex, but you ain’t worth nothing,” he says. “My old jeep could beat you up.”

He really hopes werewolf hearing doesn’t extend this far. 

.

Laura leads the way into the apartment, flicking on the light and throwing her jacket onto the sofa. Derek, Cora, and Stiles pile in behind her. 

“So,” Stiles says, putting his bag down by the coffee table. “Basically, I—or someone else from the force—will be staying here until Kate is found. You will not be left alone. You will not leave the apartment except for emergencies. You will tell me if you do leave. You tell me if you do anything. Got it?”

“Bossy,” Cora comments, smirking. “I like.”

Derek chokes a little and shoots Cora a glare.

“I know this isn't an ideal situation,” Stiles continues, ignoring Cora. “But it’s the only way to keep you safe, and it’ll hopefully be only for a little while.”

Laura is silent, her arms folded across her chest, but the tension in her body fades a little.

“Maybe we should get the rest of the pack here?” Derek looks over at Laura. “They’re targets too.”

“Good point,” Laura says. 

Stiles nods. “That's a good idea, yeah. Better to keep everyone all here. If there’s enough room?”

“We’ll let Lydia and Scott decide who’ll have the guest room and who’ll share,” Laura says. “Stiles, you can get the couch.”

“Gee, thanks,” Stiles says dryly. 

“The couch is pretty comfortable,” Derek reassures. He takes out his phone. “I’d better go call them.”

That’s the cue to break up, apparently. Laura sweeps past Stiles and into her room. Cora follows, thumping Stiles on the back before disappearing into her own room. 

So it’s just Stiles left standing in the middle of the living room. He can hear Derek talking to someone—Lydia, it sounds like—in the kitchen. Stiles lets out a sigh and slumps down onto the couch.

“Just pack enough for a couple of days,” floats over from the kitchen. “Nothing crazy.”

Stiles lets his head fall back and his eyes drift shut. He’s not sleepy, just wrung out, and it’s easy for him to just drift for a bit, thinking about nothing in particular. 

He remembers, with a dull start, that he needs pyjamas and a change of clothes. 

“Hey.”

Stiles opens his eyes and turns his head to see Derek standing over him, a cautious look on his face.

“Hey,” Stiles replies. 

“You okay?”

“Just tired,” Stiles says, with a small smile. He pats the cushion next to him. “C’mon, have a seat. I’ve been told this is a very comfortable couch. And you’re making my neck hurt, looming over me like that.”

Derek sits. 

“Scott and Lydia on their way over?” Stiles asks.

Derek nods. 

“Good,” Stiles says. Then he adds, “I forgot to pack clothes for myself. Stupid thing to forget, but I did.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Derek says. “You can borrow from me.”

Stiles nods.

They fall into silence. It’s comfortable, though, and Stiles feels his eyelids drifting down again.

“I was going to make some lunch,” Derek says abruptly. “If you’d like to help?”

Stiles turns to look at Derek. “Yeah, okay. Sounds good.”

Soon enough, all drowsiness is forgotten as Stiles toasts bread while Derek slices up vegetables and meat for sandwiches. 

“I wouldn’t have taken you as someone who cooks,” Stiles says eventually, leaning over to watch Derek carefully stack up the fillings. 

Derek’s hands don’t falter as he replies. “Laura doesn’t like cooking. And Cora burns everything. So I figured I should do it.”

“You’d think I’d have learned,” Stiles says. At Derek’s nod, he places a toasted slice of bread on top of the fillings of each sandwich. “It’s been just me and my dad for a while. But I never did learn, really.”

He flicks a glance over at Derek, who’s pressing down on each sandwich with one large hand, eyes downcast as he focuses. 

“So it’s cool that you know how,” Stiles finishes weakly, trying to ignore how impossibly long Derek’s eyelashes look, brushing down against his cheek like that. 

Derek’s head jerks, as if he’d started to look up and then changed his mind halfway through. 

Stiles glances around the kitchen wildly. “What? What is it?”

“Scott and Lydia are here,” Derek says, picking up the tray of sandwiches and turning to head into the living room. Sure enough, before he’s taken more than a few steps, Stiles can hear the door opening and a rush of footsteps.

“Laura?” Scott calls. 

More footsteps, as Laura and Cora leave their rooms. Stiles—carrying plates and napkins—and Derek join them. 

Lydia and Scott have bags piled at their feet. Laura is talking to Lydia, and Cora has Scott in a weird hug-choke hold. When Scott notices Stiles, he bats Cora’s arms away and smiles.

“Stiles,” he says. “How’s it going?”

Stiles finds himself grinning back. “Eh, could be worse.” His smile fades a bit. “And you?”

Scott looks more serious, and Cora’s grip on him visibly tightens. “Not too bad.”

“Debrief!” Laura claps her hands for attention. “Everyone, sit, and I’ll go over the situation. I see Derek’s made lunch.”

“Awesome!” Scott’s eyes light up when he sees the platter of sandwiches, and Derek smiles quietly back. 

It takes a while for them to get settled down. Once everyone has a seat, they work their way through the sandwiches while Laura fills Scott and Lydia in.

“So we have to stay here,” Lydia says once Laura is done, delicately wiping her hands on a napkin. “In this apartment. Without leaving. For days, possibly.”

“Yup,” Stiles says, through a mouthful of bread. Lydia glares, and he swallows. “It’s for your own safety. Hopefully, this situation won’t be necessary for long.”

Scott is nodding seriously beside Cora. “Of course. We’ll do whatever you need us to.”

Lydia definitely does not look happy, but she softens as Scott speaks. “Fine,” she says crisply. “I call the guest room.”

“What! No fair!” Scott jerks up, pouting a little. 

“Called it first,” Lydia says, looking smug. 

“I’ll set up a mattress in my room,” Derek offers.

Then, with nothing else said at all, they all get up and head off.

“And I’ll just sit here,” Stiles mumbles. “On the couch. Yup.”

The thing is, when Danny had suggested Stiles guard the Hales, Stiles had agreed because he’d been thinking of Scott’s close call, of Kate’s evilness and skill at sneaking around and setting things on fire. He wanted to keep the Hales safe, and having him stay with them was perfect.

He hadn’t really thought through what it meant practically—hours, days, maybe longer, spent in the Hale pack’s company. Just him and them. Alone. Derek’s—good, and Scott’s nice, but Laura scares him a little still, and he has no idea about Cora and Lydia. And the way they act together, so obviously close, makes him feel like an outsider, an interloper…which is not a new feeling to him, but it still stings. So yeah, he might be—not regretting, this is his job and he's glad to do it—but he’s definitely rethinking some things.

Stiles gets out his phone and sets to work. First, he wrangles Danny into sending someone to take over watching the apartment for a bit. Once the police officer arrives—a serious-looking woman in full uniform—Stiles drives over to his apartment. He changes into more casual clothes, just jeans and a T-shirt with a plaid button-down thrown over it, but leaves his gun and badge on. 

Then he packs a bag with pyjamas and enough clothes to last him a couple of days, throws in his toothbrush and other toiletries, and snags his laptop from the kitchen table. He pauses by his DVD shelf for a moment, considering, and grabs a couple of DVDs—Star Wars and a couple of TV shows. Just in case.

His cellphone rings once he’s back at the apartment building, riding up to the Hales’ floor. Stiles glances at the screen and answers. “Hey, Danny.”

“Stiles. How’s it going over there?”

Stiles idly jabs at the button for the fourth floor as the elevator creaks past the third floor. “I got my stuff and I’m heading back now. What about you?”

“Kate is slipperier than we thought,” Danny says, voice tinny through the phone. “We haven’t found any traces of her yet. But we have a warrant out and officers searching for her.”

“Well, crap,” Stiles says. “It’s never easy, is it.” 

The elevator finally arrives at the fourth floor and Stiles strides down the corridor to the Hale apartment. 

“Tell me about it,” Danny sighs. 

Stiles knocks, but there’s no answer, so he just shrugs and tries the door…which is actually unlocked, good lord. Stiles shakes his head in exasperation and walks in, making sure to lock the door behind him. 

“You got everything handled over there?” Danny asks. “Hales aren’t giving you trouble?”

The police officer—Stiles hadn’t bothered to get a name—is standing by the sofa, arms folded across her chest. Stiles dismisses her with a wave. “Eh…they’re not happy but they’re dealing.” He locks the door again behind her and drops his bag on the floor. “Listen, man, I gotta go. Keep me updated?”

“Of course,” Danny says. “Good luck over there.” 

“And you,” Stiles says fervently. 

Slipping his phone into his jeans pocket, Stiles gives the living room an assessing look. Slowly, he goes over the hallways and living room, checking the vents and the windows, making sure they’re firmly shut. 

After a while of this, he looks up to see Derek watching him from the hallway with a bemused look on his face. 

“What,” Stiles says, not really paying attention. He heads into the kitchen and looks it over as well. 

“What are you doing?” Derek follows Stiles into the kitchen.

“Assessing the safety of the apartment,” Stiles says. “Duh.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. 

“Seriously, is this a werewolf thing?” Stiles says snappishly. “Just because you can, I dunno, rip things up with your claws and super-strength doesn’t mean you should just leave your door unlocked! Basic safety rules still apply!”

Cora leans into into the kitchen curiously. 

“It’s like you have no survival instinct!” Stiles says, and yes, he may be ranting a bit. “There is a very dangerous killer out there, and you don’t even lock your door! Actually, I don’t know why I’m surprised. What else could I expect from the people who have an actual Facebook group for their freaky werewolf pack?”

Scott slowly peeks his head around Cora, looking sheepish. “That, uh…that may have been my fault. I may have forgotten to lock the group…” He trails off.

“Good lord,” Stiles sighs. “Okay, go away, all of you. You’re pissing me off.” Shaking his head, he stomps over to the couch and gets out his laptop. 

He spends some time messing around on the Internet, checking up on Twitter and Facebook. But he gets bored of that after a while and soon enough, he’s checking out Kate Argent on the Internet.

Or he would be, if there was anything on her. No social media accounts pop up. There is an Allison Argent on Facebook, but her account is locked so Stiles doesn’t know if she’s a relation. 

Stiles frowns and gets out his phone to text Danny. _She has no social media accounts or Internet presence at all. Weird, right?_

Danny doesn’t text back. Stiles tries to go back to his laptop, but his eyes keep drifting back to his silent phone on the sofa next to him. Minutes pass and Danny still doesn’t text and Stiles gives up on his laptop, putting it on the coffee table so he can fidget freely. He’s staring at his phone, worrying at his lip, his leg jiggling furiously, when Derek walks over to him, a pile of bed sheets and a blanket in his hands that he places on the coffee table. 

“I was going to make dinner,” he says. “If you’re not too busy…want to help?”

“God, yes,” Stiles says fervently, and pushes himself up off the sofa.

By now, he and Derek have fallen into a routine in the kitchen—which is weird if Stiles thinks about it, but he’s not, so whatever. Stiles mostly does what Derek tells him to, watching in awe as Derek magically assembles actual cooked food out of some random things he’d grabbed from the fridge. It smells really good, and soon enough everyone else is piling into the kitchen, grabbing plates and pulling up chairs. 

Dinner is actually pretty okay, not the awkward experience Stiles had figured it’d be. He makes sure to snag a chair far away from Laura, next to Scott, who turns out to be really easy to talk to, and soon enough they’re chattering away, which leads to Stiles discovering that—

“You’ve never seen Star Wars?” He’s pretty sure his eyes are the size of saucers. 

Scott at least has the decency to look embarrassed. “I dunno,” he says, shrugging. “I just never got around to it, you know?”

“I can’t believe this,” Stiles breathes. “We’re fixing this, tonight!” He taps the end of his fork against the table for emphasis, ignoring the way Laura glowers at him three chairs over. 

“Okay,” Scott says easily. 

“I even have the DVDs here,” Stiles says. “Lucky for you.” He turns to Derek, who's on his other side. “You can watch too.”

“I’ve already seen Star Wars,” Derek says, amused. 

“Oh. Well, you can watch anyway,” Stiles says, and flushes. “If you want.”

Derek smiles, and Stiles looks away before his blush gets any more obvious and embarrassing. 

Laura is frowning, but Stiles pretends he doesn’t notice, instead turning back to Scott to extol on the virtues of Star Wars. 

So they watch A New Hope on the couch that's doubling for Stiles’ bed, just the three of them since Lydia had rolled her eyes when asked and Cora and Laura had escaped before Stiles could offer. It’s really nice, actually. Scott gradually spreads himself out more and more on the couch as the movie goes on, munching on popcorn and watching attentively. 

“You were right,” he says in an undertone, once the Millennium Falcon takes flight from Tatooine. “This is pretty good.”

As for Derek? Derek starts the movie sitting on Stiles’ other side, a fair distance away. As it goes on though, he subtly shifts closer and closer. Stiles doesn’t know if he’s doing it on purpose, but either way he’s practically cuddling with Stiles now, pressed up against him from his thigh to his shoulder. 

Stiles can’t help but be really freaking aware of the heat leaking from Derek’s side—is running hot a werewolf thing? Or just a Derek thing?—and just how firm Derek’s everything feels. And he can’t help but enjoy it, just a little. It’s been a while since Stiles has been touched like this, and he hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed it…even though Derek doesn’t mean anything by it. Probably. 

He relaxes, just a little, into Derek’s side. 

By the time Luke is getting into his X-wing to attack the Death Star, Stiles is fully curled up into Derek’s side. Derek has his arm thrown over the sofa back behind Stiles. Scott is leaning a little into Stiles as well, and it’s one big cuddle-fest, basically. Stiles has never felt so comfortable. 

The movie ends in a last burst of the soundtrack, but Stiles is feeling too lazy to get up and turn it off. Next to him, Scott lets out a long yawn and his eyelids drift shut. 

“You were right,” Stiles says, blinking drowsily up at Derek. “The couch is pretty comfortable.”

Derek’s eyes are closed too but he smiles softly. Then he jerks and his eyes fly open. “I forgot! This is your bed!”

Stiles laughs quietly. “No need to freak out, dude.”

“Sorry! Just—you probably want to sleep.” Derek is fumbling, obviously out of it. “Here, we’ll get out of your way.” He leans over Stiles, accidentally brushing his bicep against Stiles’ face, and pokes Scott in the shoulder. “Hey, Scott, let’s go. Bed.”

Scott twitches his nose and mumbles. 

“C’mon,” Derek says, poking him again. “Up. Or I’ll carry you.” 

Scott glares ferociously—which isn’t very ferociously; the crooked chin and floppy hair kind of ruins the effect. Derek snorts out a laugh and hauls Scott to his feet.

“Night,” Stiles says. “And uh…thanks. For dinner.”

“Goodnight,” Derek says softly, and steers Scott away, down the hall and into the room they’re sharing. 

Stiles quickly changes into pyjamas and gets ready for bed, brushing his teeth in the small bathroom. Then he grabs his pillow he’d brought from home (he can’t sleep without his pillow, however immature that makes him) and the blanket Derek had put out and settles onto the couch.

It’s actually a lot earlier than he usually goes to sleep, but it’s been a long day and Stiles is really tired. He doesn’t fall asleep right away, though, just hangs there in the dreamy, vague space between consciousness and sleep and lets his mind wander. 

So, Derek is…nice. Really nice. And gorgeous and a good cook, and he doesn’t seem too turned off by Stiles’s awkward, intense self. 

Stiles is determinedly not thinking about it—Derek is involved in this case and it would be all types of inappropriate. And besides, he doesn’t even know if Derek likes dudes that way. Or even likes Stiles that way. 

Stiles turns over and buries his face in the couch cushions. He is not thinking about it. In fact, he doesn’t think about it so hard he falls asleep. 

.

Day two, and Stiles is going crazy. The apartment feels twice as small as it is, confining and airless. There is nothing on the Internet that can catch his attention for more than a minute. He feels on edge, at a loss. So when Danny calls him, Stiles seizes his phone like a drowning man grabbing a buoy. “Yes?”

“Stiles.” Danny sounds exhausted. 

Stiles deflates. “Nothing new?”

“Nope,” Danny sighs. “I have people out asking around for sightings, but nothing yet.” 

“Crap.”

“Yup.” Danny is silent for a second. “What about on your end?”

“I know it’s important and we have to keep them safe,” Stiles starts. He breaks off to glance around to make sure the room is empty, then hisses into his phone, “I’m going out of my mind. This is actual torture.”

“Aw, poor baby,” Danny says, sounding much more cheerful. Making fun of Stiles always puts him in a good mood. 

“Oh, shut up,” Stiles sighs. “I’m not good at staying still, you know that.” 

“Yeah,” Danny says. “I know. But—“ He breaks off. Stiles can hear the sound of someone else talking in the background and Danny’s voice replying.

“Stiles?” Danny’s back on the phone. “I have to go. We have a potential sighting in a nearby Wal-Mart and I need to check it out.”

“Yeah, of course,” Stiles says. “Fill me in after?”

“Definitely,” Danny replies, and hangs up.

Which leaves Stiles with nothing to do. 

Fortunately, Scott comes out of his room, looking refreshed and cheery, and a perfect target for Stiles’ boredom. Stiles’ estimation of Scott—already pretty high, minus the Star Wars thing—rises when Scott is totally fine with letting Stiles bombard him with questions while he eats breakfast. 

“So, how did you become a werewolf? Derek mentioned you were bitten, not born.”

Scott nods. “Oh, yeah. Got bitten back when I was in high school. That was fun.” He scoops up a spoon of cereal. 

“Really?” Stiles says. “Who was it? Who bit you, I mean.”

Scott makes a face. “It’s…kind of a long story.” 

Stiles cocks an eyebrow. 

“Basically, Laura and Derek’s uncle Peter went crazy and killed an alpha and bit me, and Laura and Derek came back from New York and killed him and made me part of their pack,” Scott says, all in a rush. He blinks and frowns. “I don’t know if I should have told you that.”

“I’ll keep it a secret,” Stiles says. “So their uncle went crazy?”

“It was the fire,” Scott says, through another mouthful of Raisin Bran. “He got really badly burned.” He swallows.

“Oh,” Stiles says soberly. “That sucks.” 

Scott crunches Raisin Bran sedately. Stiles watches him, frowning slightly.

The Hales just can’t catch a break, can they? Suddenly, Stiles doesn’t mind Laura’s hostility as much. He’d be an intimidating jerkwad too if everyone he’d loved turned out dead, or wacko and then dead. 

His phone rings, startling him from his thoughts. Stiles pulls it out from his pocket, shooting Scott an apologetic look. “Gotta get this, sorry.”

“Sure, man,” Scott says easily, waving him away. 

Stiles waits until he’s back in the living room to pick up. “Yeah?”

“Stiles?” It’s Danny. He doesn’t sound tired anymore; Stiles can detect a tinge of excitement in his voice. “We got her.”

“Seriously?” Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up.

“Well, not _her_ her,” Danny amends. “But we have a confirmed sighting.”

“So, the Wal-Mart lead was the real deal?” Stiles asks.

“Yup,” Danny says. “A clerk remembered seeing someone of her description in the store. And when we checked the security footage, we found her. Buying ropes and extra gas containers.”

“Crap.”

“Yup,” Danny agrees grimly. “I’m going to send you the clip of the footage, okay? I have to go.”

“Yeah, of course,” Stiles says. Danny hangs up and a few moments later, Stiles’ phone dings, letting him know Danny’s emailed him the clip.

The footage is grainy and Stiles can’t make out much detail. But when the figure of a woman enters the screen, he recognizes her immediately. That long, curling hair…he’d only seen her from the back, when he’d confronted her at Scott’s, but the few details he’d seen were imprinted in his mind.

Then she—Kate—turns around, glances around just for a second, and Stiles finally sees her face. 

She’s gorgeous, is the first thing that Stiles thinks. She has a pointed chin, smooth skin, an arrogant set to her mouth and eyebrows. 

Kate grabs a few coils of rope and piles them in her arms next to the gasoline cans she’s already carrying. Then she glances straight up at the security camera for a single, hair-raising moment, and something in Stiles’ stomach grows cold in response.

Those eyes…those are not the eyes of a sane woman.

He hears an in-drawn breath from behind him and whirls around. Derek is standing there, shoulders drawn up. 

“Derek…” Stiles says helplessly. 

“You found her?” Derek isn’t quite looking at Stiles.

“Just—just a sighting,” Stiles says. “We’ll find her soon.” 

Derek nods jerkily and walks away. 

“Crap, crap, crap,” Stiles mutters, throwing his phone down onto the sofa and raking a hand through his hair. He feels like he’s done something wrong, but he doesn’t know what. 

Stiles deals with his worry the way he deals with all emotions he doesn’t want to feel: he ignores them. Slumping on the couch, he loses himself in an intense game of Temple Run on his phone and does his best to ignore the memory of Kate’s intense eyes staring up at him. 

This time, there isn’t anyone specifically preparing lunch for the rest of the apartment’s inhabitants. Instead, people just start wandering out of their rooms at some random point in the afternoon and congregate in the kitchen, chatting cheerfully. Stiles is about to join them when there's a knock at the door.

All sound stops immediately in the kitchen. Frowning, Stiles walks over and opens the door.

It's Danny, looking frazzled, tie off-centre, and holding two giant cups of coffee. 

“Dude,” Stiles says, “what—?“ And he grabs one of the coffees and downs half of it in one go.

Danny is staring at him with one raised eyebrow when Stiles lowers the cup.

“I really needed that,” Stiles says in explanation. “So why are you here?”

“Are you going to let me in first?” Danny asks, and pointedly gestures with his free hand at the open doorway he’s currently standing in.

Stiles blinks. “Oh. Right.” He steps back and lets Danny in, closing and locking the door behind him. “Well?”

Danny stands awkwardly in the middle of the Hale’s living room, clutching his coffee. “We hit another dead end. We know she went to Wal-Mart but she’s impossible to trace beyond that.”

“Crap,” Stiles says. 

“I hate this,” Danny sighs. His hair is sticking up everywhere. “I hate knowing everything, knowing exactly who we’re looking for…and not being able to actually do something.”

Stiles makes sympathetic noises and herds Danny down onto the couch, vaguely aware of the tell-tale silence still coming from the kitchen. The Hales must be listening in on this whole conversation, then. Damn werewolf hearing.

Danny is a pretty calm guy usually—sarcastic, judgmental, yes (understandable, considering he deals with Stiles daily) but generally pretty chilled. He’s not prone to weird imagination spirals or fidgety, anxious fits like Stiles. So the way Danny looks right now, a little wild around the edges, lips pressed tightly together, is very Not Good.

“I think we have to go about this another way,” Danny says. “We’re obviously not going to find her by looking around the city. We have to analyze her behaviour and try to extrapolate where she might be.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, and sips at his coffee. “Any suggestions?”

“Talk to people who knew her,” Danny says.

Stiles leans closer to Danny. “You’re talking about the Hales, aren’t you,” he hisses, extremely conscious of the fact that said Hales can hear everything. 

“Yes,” Danny whispers, unconsciously lowering his voice to match Stiles’. 

Stiles opens his mouth to say what exactly, he doesn’t know—an objection, probably—but Danny cuts him off.

“We need more information,” Danny says quietly and intently. “So we are going to ask the people involved in this case. This is standard procedure. Do you have a problem with that?”

And he has a point, if Stiles is going to be honest with himself. He’s only spent a day or two with the Hales, has only known them for less than a week—yet, somehow, he’d gotten himself caught up in their situation. He’s all involved now, with their tragic history and crazy lives and intense need for privacy, and somewhere along the way, he’d let himself forget the whole police aspect of it all. 

This is an investigation. He is a police detective. He cannot get emotionally involved. He has to pull himself together, dammit.

Stiles huffs out a breath and nods. “Okay.”

Danny nods back. “Okay.” 

Stiles follows Danny into the still-silent kitchen, where the pack is doing a really bad job at pretending not to be eavesdropping. Danny comes to a stop near the entrance to the kitchen, arms held loosely by his sides. All three Hales immediately shoot him identical suspicious glares, dark brows lowering. 

“Detective Māhealani,” Scott says, when it looks like no one else is going to say anything. “Can we help you?” 

Derek passes Stiles a sandwich and pointedly doesn't offer Danny one. 

“There are some questions I need to ask you all,” Danny says straight out, and doesn’t flinch from the dark looks he’s now getting from everyone else in the kitchen. 

“I don’t have to flash my badge, do I?” he adds when no one says anything, which finally prompts Laura to step forward.

“Well?” she asks. 

Danny flashes a look at Stiles, who shrugs and bites into his sandwich. 

“Can you tell us anything you remember about Kate that you may not have told us?” Danny asks. He’s doing his steady police-detective-in-charge voice. “Anything at all—her habits, anyone she may know in New York, any experiences that may have affected her?”

Lydia shares a glance with Cora.

“Sorry, man,” Scott says. “I never really knew Kate. The fire happened when I was just a kid.” 

Stiles, chewing his sandwich, focuses on Laura, who's looking at Derek…Derek, who's pale white and has his lips pressed tightly together. 

“No,” Cora says at last, flicking her eyes over to Derek for a moment, “there’s nothing I can think of.”

“Are you sure?” Danny says. “Anything at all will help us.”

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing,” Laura says decisively. 

Danny nods slowly. “Well, alright then. But if you think of anything, please tell Stiles or call me right away.”

“Of course,” Laura says.

Danny doesn’t stop walking until he’s in the living room again. He tips his head closer to Stiles. “You need to find out what they’re hiding.”

“What?” Stiles tries to look innocent. 

“They’re not telling me something about Kate,” Danny says, “and I think it’s important but they’re obviously not going to let anything out. So I need you to find out what it is.”

“And why would they tell me?”

“They don't trust me,” Danny says. “But they trust you.”

“But I don't understand why,” Stiles says, frustrated.

Danny sighs. “I don’t know why either, to be honest. But the fact is, they do and you’re going to have to use that. Do some detective work. You can manage that, right?”

“Shut up,” Stiles says. “Alright, fine.”

“Good,” Danny says. “Keep me updated. I’ve got to go back to the station and continue doing nothing at all.”

“Have fun with that,” Stiles says, and lets him out.

When Stiles goes back into the kitchen, he pointedly does not bring up Danny or the case, just continues eating his sandwich and ignores the meaningful looks the pack is exchanging above his head. 

That’s pretty much how the rest of the day goes, full of awkward silences and significant glances. Stiles deals with it the way he deals with all uncomfortable things, just barrels through it like he doesn’t see it.

Because he knows that the Hales definitely have things they’re keeping from him, and he knows that they know that he knows they’re keeping things from him—yeah, it’s all kind of a mess. But Stiles is patient (sometimes), and Stiles is tenacious (all the time), and he is going to wait, like a tiger hidden in the grass, poised to strike at his prey…

Okay, in all honesty, Stiles has no idea what to do. The Hales are seriously tight-lipped, and he doesn’t know how to get them to talk short of stumbling onto the thing they’re trying to hide. Maybe he can bug them so much they give in out of sheer annoyance? Stiles considers it then flinches. Nope. He may be really, really good at endlessly badgering people, but Laura seems like she’s equally as good at beating people up when annoyed. (She’s a thirty-something year old werewolf with perfect bone structure and a really good glare. Stiles is allowed to be scared of her.)

So that’s definitely out. Stiles starts biting a nail anxiously. He has no idea what to do.

It turns out, though, that Stiles did all that worrying for nothing. It’s a couple of hours after dinner, with Stiles slumped down on the couch with his laptop on his lap idly playing 2048, when Derek approaches.

“Can I talk to you?”

Stiles looks up from his computer, taking in Derek’s hesitant look, the way he’s awkwardly shifting his weight from one leg to another, and sits up straighter. “Sure. Lemme just—“ He shuts his computer and puts it down on the coffee table, then shifts over to make some room on the couch for Derek. “What's up?”

“Your partner asked if there’s anything we haven’t been telling you, anything about Kate you should know.” Derek is carefully not looking at Stiles. “Well…there is something.”

“Okay,” Stiles says slowly. 

“I don’t—I don’t really want to tell you this,” Derek says, very quietly. “But if it’ll help you find her, I will. But you can’t interrupt, alright?” He glances at Stiles for a millisecond, then looks down again. “If I stop, I won’t start again.’

“Okay,” Stiles says. Something in his stomach feels weird. He’d thought what the Hales had gone through was already plenty bad. And now Derek is about to reveal something new to him, something so bad he’d kept it a secret and looks like he’s going to throw up at the thought of having to talk about it. Stiles…kind of doesn’t want to hear what’s going to come out of Derek’s mouth next. But Derek is trusting him with this, and Stiles can’t let him down, doesn’t want to. So he listens.

Derek doesn’t seem to know how to start. “When I was—“ he begins, then lapses into silence. He lets out a frustrated huff and tries again. “We keep it a secret, being werewolves. You know that already. So no one back in Beacon Hills, where we used to live, knew about us.” Derek twists his hands together in his lap. “When I was in high school, Kate came to Beacon Hills. She substituted as a teacher at my school.”

Derek’s knuckles are white where he’s clenching his hands together. “I didn’t know she was a hunter. She was pretty and older and experienced and I was an awkward teenager. She didn’t have to work very hard.”

Stiles can feel his eyes widen. Is Derek saying what Stiles thinks he’s saying? 

“We dated,” Derek says softly. “We—did things. And I told her about me, about my family.” He swallows. “I trusted her. Then I came back from school one day and—and my family was…gone. She quit her job and left town that day. And I knew she had done it.”

Derek lets out an unsteady breath. “I don’t know if that’ll help you. But now you know.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say. Does he comfort Derek, tell him it’s okay, hug him, what? He bites his lip, and, praying this is the right thing to do, he reaches out and covers Derek’s hand with his own. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

Derek looks at him for a second, his grey-brown-green eyes full of an emotion Stiles can’t make out, and then ducks his head, nodding silently. 

Stiles says hesitantly, “you do know…I’ll probably have to tell Danny? I won’t give any details!” He rushes to add. “I’ll just tell him she’ll probably be focused on you.”

Derek looks like that’s the last thing he wants Stiles doing. But he nods anyway. “Fine. If it’ll help get her.”

“We will find her,” Stiles says, and he’s vaguely surprised by how cold his voice sounds. “And we’ll put her on trial and lock her up forever and leave her to rot.”

Derek manages a small smile, though he just looks really tired. “Goodnight, Stiles.”

“Goodnight, Derek,” Stiles says, though it’s so inadequate. There’s so much he wants to say to Derek. He wants to thank Derek for trusting Stiles enough to tell him this, he wants to tell Derek he’s the strongest person Stiles has ever met, he wants to hug Derek for five minutes straight without letting go. But he doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, he watches as Derek walks slowly to his room and shuts the door silently behind him.

It’s almost midnight and Stiles feels just plain emotionally burnt out. So rather than calling Danny—who’s probably asleep anyway—he gets ready for bed and settles in for the night, doing his best not to think about a young Derek finding the burnt remains of his house, the house his insane girlfriend destroyed, along with his entire freaking family—

Stiles presses his face into the pillow hard. 

.

When Stiles fills Danny in the next morning—leaving basically all the details out and just telling him the minimum, as he’d promised Derek—Danny listens and lets out a thoughtful hum when Stiles is done.

“That might be helpful, actually,” Danny says. “Good work, Stiles.”

Stiles tries to feel pleased, but he can’t quite work it up.

“If she has a special history with Derek, she’ll probably be more focused on him, like you said,” Danny continues. “Her goal is to finish off the rest of their family, right? But we got in the way. We figured out it was her behind the murders and now we’ve got the Hales secluded and beyond her reach.”

“She doesn’t seem the type to just give up,” Stiles says. “She’s gone into hiding. Waiting for her chance to get at them.”

“So we give her that chance,” Danny says. “Hmm…Stiles, did she see you, when you confronted her at McCall’s house?”

Stiles frowns. “I—I don’t think so.” He thinks back to that night: he’d run in; she'd been crouched with her back to him; he’d yelled at her to stop, and she'd immediately run, without turning around. “No,” he says, with more certainty. “She didn’t.”

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Danny says. “Now, here’s what I think we should do.”

.

Stiles calls a meeting after hanging up with Danny. He waits until the pack is all assembled at the kitchen table, watching him warily.

Stiles takes a deep breath. “We need Derek to go out as bait.”

They react as badly as Stiles thought they would. Cora and Scott yell out “No!” and jump to their feet. Laura snarls something Stiles can’t make out. Lydia just shakes her head once, pale, her lips pressed together. 

“Hear me out,” Stiles says, once they’ve subsided. He makes eye contact with Derek, who's just sitting there quietly, his white-knuckled grip on the table edge the only testament to his tension. 

“Kate has gone underground,” Stiles says quietly. “We can’t find her. And we can’t let the trail go cold. We just can’t afford it. We can’t guard you forever, and you can’t spend the rest of your lives wondering when she’ll find you again.”

“Go on,” Derek says tonelessly. 

“We think she’s waiting for her chance to get to you. And she can’t when you’re safely under guard here. So we bait her.”

“With Derek?” Laura snarls.

“He has the most history with her,” Stiles says. “The plan is to have him go out, run a few errands as normal. She’s most probably watching your building. She sees him moving, she follows him, we find her and snap her up.” He makes sure to look at Derek. “I assure you, you'll be perfectly safe. We'll have a whole squad of policemen stationed around, and I'll be with you the whole time.”

Derek’s eyebrows jump slightly. “You’ll be with me?”

“Yup,” Stiles says. “We can’t let her think you’re being watched, but we won’t let you go out alone. I’ll be undercover helping you run your errands.”

“So you’ll be undercover as his boyfriend?” Cora cuts in.

“Yes. No—whatever?” Stiles hopes he isn’t blushing—though he hasn’t said anything worth blushing over, so he isn’t sure why he would be. “Whatever Derek is okay with.”

Derek looks like he wants to kill Cora. “Boyfriend is fine,” he grates out, and glares at everyone else at the table as if daring them to say anything.

“Great!” Stiles says, then internally winces. “I mean, good. We’ll be heading out in an hour or so. We just have to coordinate the police team.”

“I’ll make a grocery list,” Derek says. “We need food. If that works?” He directs that last bit to Stiles.

“Grocery store is fine,” Stiles says. “I’ll let Danny know. Thanks.”

Derek nods tightly and leaves the kitchen. 

Stiles is suddenly aware of the intent stares Laura, Lydia, Scott, and Cora are shooting him. He tamps down on the urge to flinch backward or look away or something. “Can you stop that?”

“If he gets hurt—“ Laura starts, voice low and menacing.

“You’ll hurt me very hard in ways I have no idea about, yes, I know,” Stiles says, but sobers up. “I won’t let anything happen to him. I promise.” He looks at them steadily, hoping they can see his utter sincerity. 

Laura nods slowly.

“Good.” Stiles grabs his phone. “Now I have to go and coordinate an entire squad of cops. Fun times.” He leaves them sitting in the kitchen, already starting a hushed conversation behind him. 

Danny moves fast and it only takes an hour for everyone to be in place. Stiles double-checks that he has his gun hidden away safely under his shirt, makes sure his phone is within easy reach in his pocket, then looks up to call Derek to go. 

Derek is waiting for him already, standing by the hallway entrance, nervously crumpling a small piece of paper in his hands. He’s wearing a soft-looking Henley and heavy boots and looks pale under his stubble. 

Stiles gives him a reassuring smile as he beckons Derek over. “You ready? Got your shopping list?”

Derek nods minutely, putting the piece of paper away in the front pocket of his tight jeans. 

“Awesome,” Stiles says. “Everyone is in place. We’ve got the whole parking lot of the store surrounded and officers inside the store itself, and a bunch of guys are going to follow us there in unmarked cars. I’ve got my gun and I’ll be with you every second. It’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Derek says. “And I’m a werewolf. Got fangs and claws and everything. I can protect myself pretty well, too. Remember?”

“Oh,” Stiles says. “Right. I kinda…forgot about that. Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Derek says. “You get really into the whole protector of the innocent thing. It’s kind of cute.”

“Oh,” Stiles says again. 

“For god’s sake,” Cora sighs, and Stiles and Derek turn to find the pack coming into the living room. “Just leave already. You’re both nauseating.” 

Derek rolls his eyes and gives her a hug. “Bye, Cora.”

Laura hugs him next, then Lydia, then Scott. Stiles hangs back uncomfortably and lets them do their thing. He gets that this is kind of a scary thing for them. 

Finally, Derek is ready to go. Stiles ushers him out and shuts the door behind him.

“We should take your car,” he says, once they’re in the elevator. “So she knows it’s you.”

Derek nods silently and takes the lead once they’re out of the elevator, heading out toward his car. 

Derek is quiet on the drive over, but Stiles can’t get himself to stop talking—his nervousness and the stress of the last few days bubbling over. Derek doesn’t seem to mind, though; he just carefully navigates while Stiles’ babbling washes over him. Stiles would think he wasn’t listening, but he can see Derek glance over at him occasionally, nodding in answer to what Stiles is saying, eyes focused. 

They get to the store and Derek parks without incident. Stiles jumps out of the car, doing his best to act normal and not like he’s surveying the parking lot for possible attacks. 

Derek meanwhile pops the trunk open and takes out—

“Are those canvas grocery bags?” Stiles gasps. 

Derek looks down at the bags he’s holding in his hands. “Uh—yeah? Why?”

“You’re one of those eco-friendly people, aren’t you,” Stiles says delightedly. “I should’ve known. That’s so cute.”

Derek’s ears go pink. Stiles is going to die. 

“Can we get this over with already?” Derek asks belligerently.

Stiles fights to straighten his face. “Right. Of course.”

They start walking toward the supermarket together—Derek parked halfway across the parking lot so it takes a while. Stiles starts automatically checking the surrounding area, then remembers he’s undercover…as Derek’s boyfriend. Right. 

“We should probably hold hands or something,” Stiles says, and then panics a little. “For undercover purposes! So she’ll think I’m just an innocent boyfriend and sneakily follow us without suspecting anything! I’m not trying to take advantage of you!”

“You’re not,” Derek says quickly, and takes Stiles’ hand. His skin feels warm against Stiles. “It’s fine.”

“Oh,” Stiles says blankly, and shakes his head a little. “Good. We should make this as convincing as possible, so she really won’t suspect anything. I really, really want this trap to work.”

“Me, too,” Derek says, and gives Stiles a little smile as they pass through the doors into the supermarket. Stiles feels his cheeks get a little pink and desperately hopes Derek doesn’t notice.

“So what’s first on the list?” he asks, grabbing a basket. 

Derek pulls said list out of his pocket, dropping Stiles’ hand as he does it. “Well, we need bread and milk, maybe some fruits and vegetables, and I’m thinking of restocking on pasta…” He grabs Stiles’ hand again and pulls him along, toward the bakery section.

The whole experience is surprisingly…pleasant. Stiles—who normally would be crawling out of his skin, if he’s going to be honest—is completely happy to follow Derek around, arguing the merits of white bread vs. whole wheat and helping him pick out vegetables for a stir fry. Derek is a careful shopper and fun to banter with, and Stiles isn’t finding it that hard to fake the boyfriend thing. They hold hands the entire time. 

“Well, I think that’s it!” Derek says, shoving his list into his pocket. 

Stiles stops pouting—Derek had immediately shot down his suggestion of cupcakes—and straightens up. “You sure?”

Derek shoots him a flat look. “You sure you can handle any more things in that basket? You look like you’re having trouble holding it up.”

“Hilarious,” Stiles gripes. “Alright, Mr. Comedian, let’s go buy all this stuff.”

Stiles helps Derek load the groceries into the canvas bags once Derek’s paid, and they each grab a bag and head out into the parking lot. When they’re by Derek’s car, Derek puts down the bags to open the trunk. Stiles stops him.

“Stiles?” Derek looks confused.

Stiles puts down his bags too. “Sorry about this,” he says. “I want to try something.” He steps a little closer to Derek and settles his hands on Derek’s waist. “There’s no one around,” he says softly, bringing his head closer to Derek. 

Derek is watching him raptly, his eyes flicking from Stiles’ eyes to his mouth. 

“And this would be the perfect opportunity for Kate to snatch us,” Stiles continues, leaning in even closer. 

This close, Derek’s eyes are insanely gorgeous. Stiles can’t help but marvel at the ridiculous length of his eyelashes, at the different shades in his eyes. 

“So I’m giving her the chance,” Stiles finishes, and nuzzles Derek’s cheek.

Derek lets out a strange, aborted sound and his arms come up to rest on Stiles’ back. The weight of them feels good, and Stiles has to suppress a shiver. 

They stand there hugging for a long moment, and then Stiles sighs, plants a small kiss on Derek’s cheek, and steps away. “Okay?” he asks.

Derek is blinking slowly, almost dazedly. “Okay.”

Stiles shoots a very quick glance around and doesn’t see anyone around at all, let alone insane women sneaking up on them. He tries not to let his shoulders slump. “We’re done here.”

“That’s it?” Derek asks. “We’re going back?”

“If she hasn’t come out now, she isn’t going to at all,” Stiles says. “Let’s go.”

He’s quiet on the way back, feeling overwhelmingly disappointed and frustrated. This was their last, best chance to get a head start on Kate, and it failed. Stiles doesn’t know where to go from here.

Derek must be feeling it too, because he’s also quiet on the drive to the apartment.

“I'm sorry,” Stiles says after Derek parks the car. He can feel Derek turn to look at him but he just stares straight ahead, picking at the fabric of his pants. “I thought we could help but we’re just sort of useless.”

Derek is silent for a moment. “You’re trying. That counts.”

“Wow, comforting,” Stiles says, but he’s smiling. He finally turns to look at Derek, who's watching him, the expression on his face soft—almost unguarded, Stiles would say. “Let’s go in?”

“Let’s go in,” Derek replies. 

Danny is waiting for them once they enter the apartment, sitting very still on the couch. The living room is completely empty apart from him. Stiles stops short, taking in the tight expression on Danny’s face. 

“I’m going to leave you guys to it,” Derek murmurs in Stiles’ ear.

Stiles waits for Derek to close his bedroom door behind him before slumping down next to Danny. He’s braced for some sort of outburst—God knows Stiles is definitely close to one himself—so he’s a little surprised when Danny just sighs and says, “Well, this sucks.”

“Understatement,” Stiles says feelingly. 

“I—I don’t know what else we can do,” Danny says quietly, tipping back to lean his head against the back of the couch. “Unless we can think of something, anything, our only option is to sit around waiting for her to come out of hiding.”

“That is an incredibly crappy option,” Stiles says.

They sit in silence for a while. Unlike Stiles, Danny is not a fidgety person. When Danny gets stressed, he gets quiet, withdrawn, his movements controlled and his posture tense. Stiles, however, gets loud, gets clumsy, all movement and wide arm gestures. And Stiles is plenty stressed right now. Normally by this point, he’d be furiously pacing around the room, flinging his arms about. But Stiles honestly can’t work up the energy for that right now.

“Listen,” Danny says, and Stiles startles. Danny is eyeing him, his gaze assessing. “You’re obviously exhausted. You’ve been staying here for a couple of days. You should take a break.”

“I’m not leaving them,” Stiles says immediately, before he’s even thought about it. 

“And I’m not asking you to,” Danny says. “I’m telling you to take the rest of today and the night off to recharge before you burn yourself out. I’ll fill in for you.”

Stiles contemplates it for a second—getting to go home, take a proper shower, get fresh clothes, be in his own, familiar apartment. The prospect sounds ridiculously good. “Alright,” he says finally. “But I’m coming back tomorrow morning.”

Danny snorts. “Would I even be able to stop you?”

“Point,” Stiles says, feeling a smile creeping onto his lips despite it all. He moves to get up and pauses. “Do you want me to get you some pyjamas? A change of clothes?”

“Nah,” Danny says. “I’ll send someone to get stuff for me. You go home. You look like you’re two seconds away from crashing.”

“You sure know how to compliment a guy,” Stiles says dryly, standing up. “Well, let me know if there’s anything you need.”

“Will do,” Danny says. “Now go.”

Stiles feels a little reluctant to leave Derek and the pack, but he really does need some sleep that’s not on a couch. So he goes.

He’s two steps into his apartment, just about to put his bag down, when he hears a noise behind him and something very hard hits him over the head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter will be up sometime in the next week or so, hopefully. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://moosetifying.tumblr.com/)!


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles opens his eyes. The light’s really bright, for some reason, and he has to blink a couple of times until his vision adjusts. His head is aching horribly.

Hazily, he makes out what appears to be his ceiling, right above him. He frowns. Why—why is he looking at his ceiling? And why does his head hurt so much?

A jolt goes through him when he remembers, and he immediately jerks his head up. Which is a bad idea, because that just causes the pain to flare up to frankly ridiculous levels. Stiles lets out a hoarse groan and his vision goes spotty. 

After a while, the pain fades out somewhat—or at least, he adjusts to it, Stiles isn’t sure which one. He decides maybe he should just lie back and not move at all for a bit.

Kate’s face appears overhead, her lips stretched in a smirk. “Guess you’re back with me, huh. You have a hard head. You were only out for a few seconds there.”

Stiles opens his mouth to retort, but the only thing that comes out is, “ow.”

Kate laughs. “Well, aren’t you a cute one. It’s too bad about all this.” Her smirk widens. “Now, sit tight while I finish tying you up, and then we can go somewhere private. Doesn’t that sound nice?” She pats his chest and moves away.

Stiles hates her so much. He thought he’d hated her before. But now, seeing her up close and personal, kidnapping him, he’s definitely experiencing new levels of hatred. And violent urges. Lots of those.

“What’s your plan here?” he asks, trying not to jostle his head too much. “What, you kidnap me and kill me or whatever, and that’s how you’ll get to Derek? That’s a dumb plan.”

Kate finishes binding his legs with rope and reappears in his eye line again. “Open up,” she says, and then tuts when Stiles presses his lips together in reply. “I guess we’re doing this the hard way.” She grabs Stiles’ chin with one hand, sharp nails poking into Stiles’ skin, and with the other she forces a ball of material into Stiles’ mouth, then covers his mouth with duct tape. 

Stiles growls, but it’s muffled by the layers over his mouth and Kate ignores him. 

Kate disappears from his vision again, and he can hear her footsteps heading away. After a moment of shuffling noises, she says, “I’d say I’m sorry to do this, but I’m not.” Her voice is coming closer. Something clicks. 

Stiles hears the whine and crackle of electricity, and then all his thoughts fly apart in a jumble of pieces and his vision shuts down and he goes away for a little bit.

When he comes back to himself, aching horribly and still tied up, he’s lying on the floor of a moving car, being jostled as it goes over a few bumps. Above him, he can see Kate driving, her sharp nails tapping the steering wheel. Her chin looks especially pointy from this angle, Stiles thinks uncharitably. 

Stiles tries to move, which turns out to be a very bad idea, because all the aches and various painful bits come into full, horrible force and he has to lie still for a moment and concentrate very hard on not throwing up. He doesn’t want to end up choking to death on his own vomit, thanks. 

Kate must notice he’s awake, because the next thing he feels is her sharp boot kicking him not very gently in his side. Stiles sees her smirk, but she doesn’t say anything, just keeps driving on without even looking down at him.

It’s probably not a very long drive, but Stiles is feeling so miserable that it feels like forever. Once Kate stops the car and hauls him out, he realizes he has absolutely no idea where he is. The sky is sinking from evening into true night and the only thing he can make out is that they’re at some sort of stereotypical empty, old warehouse. Oh, and there’s absolutely no one around as far as Stiles can see. 

Crap, Stiles thinks, really starting to panic. This is really, really bad. 

Kate starts to drag him forward, forcing him to hop awkwardly along on his still-tied together feet. Werewolf noses would be able to track him this far, right? Stiles wonders, and fervently hopes that they can. 

Once they’re in the warehouse, Kate shoves him into the centre of the echoing, open space. “Down,” she says, smirking, and pushes him onto the floor when Stiles merely glares back. She laughs and takes out a bag from her jacket pocket. Stiles watches as she sprinkles a dark, powdery substance in a perfect circle around him.

“Stay,” she says, and walks off into the darkness.

Stiles takes a moment to glance around at the place Kate’s brought them to. The warehouse is mostly empty, as far as Stiles can see—it’s dark with the only light coming from windows set high up on the walls. He thinks he can make out some boxes near the edges. All around where he’s sitting is empty, though, apart from some garbage and old newspapers, lying crumpled on the ground. 

Stiles is really tired and in quite a lot of pain, and his brain isn’t working as well as it should. So it takes him a while to recognize that the dark powder Kate had sprinkled around him was mountain ash. 

“Oh,” he tries to say, then cringes when it comes out as a garbled grunt. 

Kate put a ring of mountain ash around him. Mountain ash is used to restrain supernatural creatures. Ergo…Kate thought he was a supernatural creature. 

_Oh._

Stiles wants to shout in victory, do a dance, punch the air, something, but he is gagged and tied up and currently a prisoner of a psychopath. He better act quickly.

Moving is awkward and extremely undignified, but that’s the last of Stiles’ worries. He manages to work out a system for getting around, by wiggling his butt and shoving with his legs and arms. It’s slow but it’s something, and soon enough, he squirms his way out of the mountain ash circle and towards where he thinks the door is. 

He’s gotten quite a distance away from the messed up ash circle when Kate comes back. 

“Huh,” she says, staring down at him. “So I guess you’re not one of them. My mistake.”

Stiles glares defiantly up at her. 

“A human,” she muses as she forcibly drags him back to the circle. Stiles doesn’t make it easy for her, twisting away from her grip, but she ignores him. “A human, and you’re shacking up with that animal, huh? Can’t say much for your taste.”

Stiles lets out a garbled shriek of rage. Kate throws him down onto the floor and crouches down, leaning in. “But then again, I did hit that myself,” she says, leering. “Guess we’re both suckers for a pretty face.”

Stiles can’t speak through the gag, so he settles for glaring at Kate as hard as he can.

“Of course, I was just doing it so I could rid the world of a couple of monsters,” Kate says, abruptly serious. Her eyes are dark with some emotion Stiles doesn’t want to parse. “And now I have to do my duty and finish the job.”

She pulls something out of her jacket. “I’d apologize for what I’m going to have to do to you,” she says softly. “I don’t want to kill any humans. I just kill monsters. But you’re friends with the monsters. You’re dating the monsters. So I guess you’re just as bad as them.”

Stiles feels a shiver going through him. 

“Nighty night,” Kate says, and the thing she’s holding—a gun-shaped something, Stiles notices vaguely—lights up in sparks and Stiles hears that whine of electricity again, feels his whole body jolt and shiver in reaction, and then everything goes mercifully black. 

.

The first time Stiles wakes up, head aching horribly, it’s even darker than before. Stiles can barely see past a few feet. He’s alone—at least, he thinks he is.

The floor is cold and extremely hard, and Stiles shifts to try to find a more comfortable position. The sound of jangling meets his ear. He freezes, then cautiously tries to move first his arms, then his legs again, hissing when he realizes what the noise is. 

Kate’s chained him up. Actual, literal metal chains, if the heavy weight on Stiles’ numbed limbs means anything. 

Stiles lays his head back onto the floor, wincing. His body is loudly protesting his rough treatment, and the only reason Stiles isn’t cursing, or moaning, or crying right now is because he’s still fully gagged. 

He realizes dully that he’s shivering. The air in the warehouse is frigid and the floor feels even colder. His stomach growls. 

Stiles closes his eyes and sinks back into blackness. 

.

The second time Stiles wakes up, weak sunlight is filtering through the warehouse windows and something is buzzing in the pocket of his jeans. 

Stiles reflexively startles at the strange sensation, then lets out a garbled noise when the movement jostles his head and still-tied arms and legs. All his various aches and pains flare up, a wave of discomfort that hits hard. Stiles sucks in a breath through his mouth, but the gag is in the way and he can’t get any oxygen through. He spends a frantic minute struggling to get his breathing back in order, his vision blurring from panic. 

Eventually, he sinks back, exhausted, carefully breathing through his nose. 

Somewhere in the middle of all that, the buzzing had stopped. Now that Stiles is paying attention, he can feel the weight of his phone in his front jeans pocket. He can’t believe he forgot it was there, and that Kate didn’t take it off him. 

His phone starts buzzing again. Stiles does a couple of contortions—twisting around the floor, moving his legs up, shoving his arms down—to try and somehow get his phone out. If he could just get it and call for help—

And that’s when Kate shows up, of course, looming over him, looking perfectly well-rested, damn her. 

“What have we got here?” she asks. 

Stiles immediately stops moving , but it’s too late. Kate easily moves his arms aside and pulls out his phone. It stops buzzing. 

“Well, well, well,” Kate says, quietly triumphant. “You won’t be needing this anymore, honey.” She flicks the screen on. “Who’s Danny?”

Stiles freezes.

Kate stares at him intently. When Stiles doesn’t do anything, she stands up and pockets the phone. “Okay then.” She turns and starts to walk slowly away. “Get ready,” she calls over her shoulder. “It’s time for the fun to start.”

Stiles listens to her go, his mind racing. So Danny was calling him? Of course—it’s morning, Stiles had said he’d be back. Danny is checking on him…and Stiles hadn’t answered. 

If Stiles knows Danny, he’ll be over at Stiles’ apartment soon, bless his suspicious, controlling detective heart. Stiles’ apartment, where Stiles is definitely not. 

Hope floods Stiles all at once, so strongly that it’s hard to breathe for a moment. 

Danny knows something’s wrong. Danny will find him. It will all be okay.

Then Kate comes back, carrying a massive can of gasoline, and Stiles’ heart sinks again. 

It looks like the only thing Danny will be finding is Stiles’ dead body. 

Crap.

Some of his panic must be showing on his face, because Kate is watching him avidly now, her mouth curling up into a wide, triumphant grin. “Scared, huh,” she says softly. She leans in closer, baring her teeth. _“Good.”_

Stiles breathes sharply through his nose. She’s sick, he thinks, a slow wash of horror rising up his throat. She’s actually insane. He remembers Cora calling her a psychopath, and feels the urge to let out a hysterical laugh. 

Kate has something like pleasure on her face. She sets the gasoline container down a few feet from Stiles and walks out again. Stiles waits for her to leave the warehouse before he starts struggling, trying to get out, get away, anything. But the chains hold fast, and his limbs are too numbed from hours and hours of cut-off circulation. 

Kate comes back, holding another gasoline container, which she sets beside the first. Getting on her knees, she leans closer to Stiles. Stiles watches her warily and does his best to stay stoic as she brings her hands up to his face and roughly removes the duct tape and gag.

It’s indescribable how good the air feels against his mouth. Stiles sucks in a breath, wincing at the way the skin around his mouth is stinging from the duct tape. 

Kate looks excited. “Ready?” she asks. 

“Stop—“ Stiles says, and coughs, his throat dry and rough. “Just let me go. They’ll find you soon and stop you.”

“Oh, I know,” Kate says, unlocking his chains and throwing them away with a clatter. “That’s what I’m counting on, sweet cheeks. And in the meantime, I get to have some fun.”

She reaches out and grabs a can. Stiles panics—he needs to stall her, needs to delay her enough until Danny gets here, but his mind is blank, he can’t think of anything—

“You can scream,” Kate says conversationally, unscrewing the cap of the can. “I like it when they scream.”

“Psycho,” Stiles spits, and Kate laughs. 

“Feisty,” she says. “Nice.”

Stiles starts struggling against his bonds again, gasping as Kate stands up. 

“Here we go,” she breathes, and starts moving. 

The gas spills out, amber in the sunlight drifting in through the windows, splashing heavily against the cement floor of the warehouse. Stiles’ pants and shoes get soaked quickly; he can feel the gasoline seeping in through the fabric, feeling strange against his skin. He ducks his head just in time to miss a stream of gasoline to the face. His shirt is sopping now. 

When the can runs empty, Kate tosses it aside and grabs the second one. The puddle of gasoline around Stiles’ body keeps growing, spreading out across the floor. The smell is overwhelming. 

Kate sets down the gasoline can and fishes a box of matches out of her pocket. Her breathing is coming out in harsh pants, her eyes lit up with excitement and anticipation. 

“Nighty night,” she says, and strikes a match. 

“Don’t—!” Stiles gets out.

She drops the match. The gasoline goes up instantly, a huge roaring sheet of flames. 

Stiles cries out, he can’t help it, he’s so _terrified_ —

The fire keeps burning, smoke coming up in thick clouds; he can feel it around him, can feel heat growing on his pants and shirt, oh god. Things are getting hazy; the smoke is heavy, filling up his lungs, making him cough. The heat is getting close to unbearable now. Stiles dimly notes that he’s screaming and Kate is laughing, glorying in it all, and—

And there’s a loud roar ringing through the warehouse, the sound of metal crunching and footsteps racing, and more roars are joining the first, the sounds echoing through the warehouse, mixing with Stiles’ screams and Kate’s laughter. 

Stiles doesn’t know what’s happening, but there’s someone grabbing onto him, dragging him out of the fire, beating out the flames on his clothes. Stiles dizzily heaves in a breath. The fresh air feels incredible. 

“Stiles!” 

That’s Derek voice, Stiles thinks muzzily. 

“Stiles, are you okay?”

“Derek!” comes a frantic shout, and Derek snarls out a curse. Stiles manages to turn his head enough to get a flash of Derek’s face changing, morphing, and then Derek is running away, off to where Stiles can see Laura and Cora locked in a fight with Kate. 

Time is moving weirdly and Stiles’ eyes aren’t working properly. He can make out only bits of what’s happening: Derek and his sisters moving so fast they’re blurred, twisting, lunging, tearing, with Kate in the middle of it all, swinging wildly, her face locked in a mask of rage and ferocity. 

Stiles coughs so hard he has to close his eyes and curl into himself, and when he comes back to himself, he can barely see Kate anymore, just three wild forms bearing a fourth down onto the floor, all of them snarling and snapping…

Stiles coughs again, his vision blurring up. He can’t feel anything anymore—that’s not good, right? He should be feeling pain or something—

A roar echoes throughout the warehouse, loud and animalistic and triumphant. 

Stiles doesn’t know what’s happened. He hopes Derek’s winning. He feels so tired and numb all over.

“Stiles!” Derek’s face appears overhead, still in his werewolf form. Utter panic is written in every line of his features.

There’s only one thing to say, really. 

“No eyebrows,” Stiles mumbles. “Weird.”

Then he passes out. 

. 

Waking up a struggle. His body feels heavy and sluggish and his eyes simply refuse to open. Stiles gets there eventually, after what feels like a couple of thousand attempts, and blinks at the light piercing his eyeballs. 

He’s in a hospital bed, as far as he can tell without moving his head too much, a blanket pulled up to his shoulders and an IV trailing out of his arm. Stiles swallows and makes a face at the gross taste in his mouth. His head feels weird, kind of fuzzy and out of it, and Stiles can feel a faint edge of nausea. 

His dad is sitting by his bed. Stiles freezes instantly once he notices. His dad is asleep, slumped awkwardly against the back of his chair in a way that Stiles knows must be killing his neck, the lines in his face more prominent than Stiles remembers. He looks exhausted and old. Stiles has to suck in a breath. 

Somehow, that’s enough to wake up his dad. He stirs and sits up, wincing and rubbing at his neck, then goes still once he notices Stiles looking back at him. 

“Son,” his dad says, quietly.

And Stiles had thought he was okay, alright? He’d stayed pretty calm throughout the whole kidnapping and being set on fire thing, and he’d made it out, and he was in the hospital and he was not dead and he thought he was okay. But then his dad puts a heavy, familiar hand on his head, smoothing his hair gently, and Stiles—Stiles just breaks. 

“Dad,” he gasps out and starts shaking very hard. His dad doesn’t say anything, just gathers Stiles up in his warm, steady arms and lets Stiles sob and wheeze into his shoulder. It takes a while for Stiles to calm down. It’s like he’s been saving all the panic and stress of the past days up and it’s all coming out right now, in this sterile hospital room, into his dad’s worn shirt that smells so much like home. 

His dad waits patiently until Stiles is just sniffling and hiccuping, and then gently moves Stiles back down onto the bed. 

“You scared the crap out of me,” his dad says. “I know I should be used to it, I know it’s part of the job description, but I’ll never get used to it.” 

“I get scared for you too,” Stiles admits, his voice rough. 

He and his dad just look at each for a moment. 

“So how long was I out?” Stiles asks at last. 

His dad slowly rubs a hand through his greying hair. “About a day. You aren’t so bad off, overall. No concussion, miracle of miracles, and they managed to get your circulation back to normal after being tied up for so long. You got first and second degree burns all over, and they’ve got you on painkillers, but it’s not so bad. Especially considering how you got them.”

“You know about that?”

“Danny filled me in,” his dad says. 

Stiles frowns—he doesn’t remember Danny being there at the warehouse. But he sets it aside for now.

“And that’s about it except for shock, bruises, and some smoke inhalation,” his dad finishes, then shakes his head. “God, don’t you ever do that to me again.”

“Sure, Dad, I’ll make sure to let the next person who kidnaps me know.”

“Don’t be a wise ass,” his dad says. “And you’re grounded forever.”

Stiles very tactfully doesn’t remind him that he no longer lives with him and thus cannot be grounded.

“You want me to get Danny over here?” His dad asks. “He can fill you in on what happened a lot better than I can, and I bet he’s got plenty of questions.”

Stiles makes a face which turns into a massive, jaw-cracking yawn. “Yeah, okay. But later? I think I’m gonna sleep some more.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” his dad says, as Stiles yawns again. “I’ll let him know you’re awake and to come by later, okay?”

“Awesome,” Stiles says, slumping into the bed. He’s tiring really fast; his eyelids are already feeling too heavy to hold up. “Thanks, dad.”

“Sure, son,” his dad says, pulling the blanket up higher over Stiles. 

Stiles feels exhaustion pulling at him, but he summons enough strength to mutter, “Sorry. For worrying you.”

His dad sighs, and there’s the familiar weight of his hand on Stiles’ head again. “Part of the job description, son.”

.

Stiles is struggling to eat breakfast the next morning, attention entirely focused on the frustrating bowl of oatmeal on the tray in front of him, when Danny drops into a chair by his bed. 

“Oh,” Stiles says, tearing his gaze away from the bowl of oatmeal and taking in the bags under Danny’s eyes. “You look like crap.”

“I look like crap?” Danny sputters. “I look like crap? You, you say that to me, sitting there in the hospital looking all—“

“Calm down,” Stiles says. It’s strange to see the usually calm and collected Danny all worked up and if he were a better person, he’d be sympathetic and calming. But honestly, Stiles is eating it up. He’s enjoying not being the emotional, babbling one. 

“You scared the crap out of me,” Danny says quietly, running a hand through hair that is already sticking straight up. “You went home and you didn’t call and I thought you were finally listening to me and actually getting some rest. But then you also didn’t call in the morning so I called you and you didn’t pick up, and you always do and—“

“Seriously, calm down,” Stiles interrupts. He takes it back, he’s not enjoying seeing Danny like this. It’s too disconcerting. “Slow down. What did you do when I didn’t pick up?”

“I got concerned, thought something was wrong, maybe. So,” Danny takes a breath, “I tracked the GPS on your phone.”

Stiles blinks. “Huh. Forgot about that.”

“The GPS showed you were definitely not in your apartment—or at least, your phone wasn’t,” Danny continues. “So the Hales went to get you and I went to check your apartment in case that wasn’t you in a random warehouse. And then I went over the warehouse to join the fun.”

“Wait, you did?” Stiles says. “But—”

“And the Hales found you and saved you from being burned to death,” Danny finishes, ignoring Stiles’ interruption. 

“Is Kate…” Stiles trails off, unable to say it.

“She’s alive,” Danny says heavily. 

Stiles does a double-take. “Wait, what? I was kind of out of it near the end, but I’m sure I heard—” He means to say roaring, but then he remembers that Danny doesn’t know about the supernatural side of things.

“I got there in time to break things up,” Danny says. “She’s in custody now.”

“Wait!” Stiles holds up a hand. This is too much information dumped on him all at once. “Just—back up a bit. You went to check the apartment and let the Hales go ahead to the warehouse? What the hell were you thinking? They’re civilians!”

“Well, yes,” Danny says. “But I thought werewolf abilities would be a bit more useful than plain old human me in this situation. So I delegated.”

Stiles knows he looks stupid, gaping and blinking at Danny dumbly, but he can’t quite get his mouth to close. “You—werewolves—what?”

Danny smirks. 

“You—know?” Stiles manages at last. “About the Hales being werewolves?”

“It wasn’t that hard to figure out,” Danny says. “You aren’t as subtle as you think.”

“You—you asshole!” Stiles gasps, and punches Danny weakly on the shoulder. “I was stressing about it so much! I felt so guilty!” 

Danny is laughing at him, and Stiles feels a reluctant smile pulling at his lips. Annoying as it is, it feels good knowing there are no more secrets between them. 

Danny stays a bit longer after the werewolf revelation, filling Stiles in on the rest of the events he missed while he was out. 

After Danny saw Stiles’ apartment was empty, he immediately rushed over to the warehouse and ran in just in time to stop Laura from ripping Kate’s throat out. 

The Hales were not happy about that to say the least. Danny doesn’t go into details, just mentions they had a spirited debate over the issue—which Stiles interprets to mean a full-on screaming match—but eventually Danny managed to, as he puts it, bring them over to his side. Kate is now in custody, and the fact that she kidnapped and attempted to kill an NYPD detective coupled with testimonials from the Hales and the evidence regarding her other murders means that she’ll be put away for life. 

“Barring any complications, at least,” Danny sighs.

Good, Stiles thinks. She deserves to get what’s been coming to her for years now, and the Hales deserve some justice and closure, as well as Maya Harper and Michael, unwitting victims of a madwoman’s feud. 

Once Stiles is satisfied, Danny gets him to tell his side of the story, from the kidnapping to the events in the warehouse. It’s—really hard, actually. Stiles has been through some pretty bad stuff in this job, and yeah, it’s been hard on him, but this is the most personal, the most terrifying, and so it’s affecting him more. He…may need to see someone about this, if he wants to fully recover. 

Stiles manages to get through the retelling, but it’s slow and stumbling and he can’t quite get himself to look Danny in the face while he’s talking. Danny listens patiently, taking some notes, asking for clarification a couple of times, but otherwise doesn’t say anything, and Stiles is grateful. 

Danny squeezes his elbow once Stiles is done talking. He must sense how raw Stiles is feeling because he doesn’t stay after that, doesn’t make any comments, just gives a quiet smile and leaves Stiles to rest. 

For all that they bicker and tease each other, they’re partners. They know each other; know how to handle each other. Stiles takes comfort in that. 

.

Recovery is, unsurprisingly, really boring. It involves a lot of lying in bed and not moving too much for long periods of time, both things Stiles is not very good at. 

His dad comes to visit as much as he can, but he has to work too, so by his third day in the hospital, Stiles is alone in his room, left to his own devices. 

Danny is busy wrapping up the case and can’t come, but he graciously offers to bring Stiles some paperwork to fill out. Stiles, of course, refuses his oh so generous offer. 

All this means that just a few hours after breakfast, Stiles is buzzing with unused energy and itching to do something. He can’t exactly sneak out of the hospital, so he settles for going to the bathroom by himself—exciting stuff. 

It feels good to get out of bed and stretch his legs, but it also really hurts. He’s bruised all over, and though his burns are miraculously not so bad, they still throb quite a bit. Add in some dizziness from his pain meds, and Stiles is definitely wavering by the time he makes it to the bathroom. 

He does his business as fast as he can but by the time he’s done washing his hands, he feels worn out, his previous burst of energy used up. He steps carefully out of the bathroom, eyeing his bed which looks really far away from where he’s standing. 

“Oh! Stiles!”

Stiles jumps a few inches into the air, letting out a rather high-pitched screech. Once he recovers, one hand on his rapidly-beating heart, he looks up to see an apologetic Scott coming towards him, hands held up.

“I’m so, so sorry!” Scott says. “I didn’t mean to startle you like that, I just came to visit and you weren’t in your bed. Sorry!”

Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t need any more trauma, thanks.”

“Oh—“ Scott says, “Um.”

Stiles sighs. “It’s fine. Just a joke.”

“Right,” Scott says, then obviously casts around for something else to say. “Here, let me help you back to bed.”

Stiles is practically drooping with exhaustion, so he swallows his pride and allows Scott to grab an arm and help him across the room and into bed. Scott actually tucks him, which is way too cute. 

“So, you’re visiting me, huh,” Stiles says, once he’s settled in and Scott is perched on the chair by his bed. 

“Yup!” Scott says. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay and say thanks for helping us. Like, seriously. You saved all our lives.”

“Just doing my job,” Stiles says graciously. 

“Danny told us all what happened to you,” Scott goes on. “Did she really think you were Derek’s boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Which is what we wanted her to think. We just didn’t expect her to do what she did. But it worked out and it’s all over now.”

He really is not in the mood to discuss his kidnapping and he hopes Scott takes the hint and moves onto different topics.

Wonder of wonders, Scott does. He’s just as easy to talk to as Stiles remembers, and pretty soon they’re deep in a conversation about Scott’s job as a veterinarian. 

“It can be hard, balancing the werewolf part of me with the vet part—some animals can get spooked. But I also get to do cool things like drain their pain, which makes it all worth it,” Scott says earnestly. “And there’s no better feeling than seeing an innocent creature that you’ve helped and healed.”

“Wait, you can drain pain from animals? Derek never mentioned that!” Stiles says.

“And from humans too, actually. It’s my favourite werewolf ability,” Scott says.

“Demonstration!” Stiles demands, and Scott obliges, laughing. Wrapping a hand around Stiles’ arm, he sits there and patiently lets Stiles stare his fill at the blackness visibly trickling through his veins. 

“Oh, that feels amazing,” Stiles groans. “And you’re sure it doesn’t hurt you?”

Scott shakes his head. “It just stings a little, but only for a few seconds.”

“Ugh, werewolves are so cool,” Stiles says. 

Scott shrugs modestly. 

“So what about Lydia? Derek explained what she can do, but I’m still confused by it.”

Scott leaves his hand on Stiles’ arm, absentmindedly draining the pain from Stiles while he talks. Scott is also still unclear on just what Lydia can actually do, but from what he tells Stiles, it’s not fun. Hallucinations, screaming, death omens…yeah, definitely not fun. 

When she’s not predicting people’s death, though, Lydia is an actual genius, doing complicated math things for some fancy company (Scott’s words, not Stiles’). Scott, sensing Stiles’ interest, then goes on to talk about the rest of the pack. 

The Hales have been living in New York since the fire, only going back to Beacon Hills to deal with their crazy uncle. When they’d realized that Scott had been bitten too, they’d accepted him into their pack and taught him how to deal with his new powers. They’d stayed in Beacon Hills until Scott was done with high school (and helping Lydia when her own banshee powers started developing), then they had moved back to New York City. Lydia and Scott had gone too, attending university there and finding jobs. 

“My mom is still back in Beacon Hills,” Scott confides. “But I want to be here, with my pack. I have a great job here, and friends. Oh, and the most beautiful fiancée in the world.” A soppy look comes over his face. “Her name is Allison and she’s amazing. She’s been away on a trip actually, so you didn’t meet her.”

“Really,” Stiles says. He’s still on some heavy drugs, so when something twinges in his memory, he remarks idly, “Kate Argent had a relation, actually. She was named Allison too.”

Scott flushes. “Well…”

Stiles gapes. “Wait, that’s your Allison?”

“It’s a long story,” Scott says, and then proceeds to tell Stiles everything. Basically, as far as Stiles can make out, Scott had fallen in love with Allison, who was a hunter, in high school. Lots of tension and drama had happened, but eventually they made it out still together and fully accepting of each other’s backgrounds. 

“It took a while for the Hales to come around,” Scott says. “But Allison is not like the rest of her family at all and it’s all okay now.”

“And her crazy aunt?” 

“Yeah, that’s been…hard on her, to say the least,” Scott admits. “She’s totally against everything Kate stands for and has done, but Kate is still family, you know?”

Jesus, everything is such a mess. Does everyone in the Hale pack have such a tragic backstory? 

Scott looks sad, so Stiles distracts him by asking about the Hales themselves. According to Scott, they’re filthy rich, so rich they technically don’t have to work at all and could just hang around all the time doing nothing if they wanted to. But they still work—Cora is a freelance photographer and Laura heads a non-profit charity for children. Derek works with Laura, but not as an executive, instead dealing with the children themselves. 

Stiles has to take a second when he hears that, because Derek is sort of perfect and only gets more perfect the more Stiles hears about him. 

Scott asks about Stiles’ job as a detective, and Stiles tears his thoughts away from Derek (and why has Derek not visited him? And is Derek okay?) and answers him. He tells Scott about how his dad works as a cop, and has for as long as Stiles can remember. He talks about how he’d had grown up around cops, had always loved puzzles and challenges, how his brain never let things go once they interested him. 

He does the work because he wants to help people, of course, and bring bad people to justice and all that. But his main reason? He loves the challenge. 

By then, they’ve been talking for a few hours already and Stiles is starting to droop, his words slurring in places. Scott catches on and tactfully excuses himself. 

“Can I get you anything before I go?” he asks. “Some water? Do you need to go to the bathroom again?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Stiles says. “Thanks, though.”

“You have got to keep in touch,” Scott says. He points a finger at Stiles. “I mean it. You still have the rest of the Star Wars movies to show me.”

“You got it,” Stiles says, and he really does mean it. Scott is awesome. 

.

By the next day, the hospital is finally ready to release him. Stiles has a list of prescriptions for his burns, but is otherwise ready to go. His dad is on his way over to pick him up and take him home—to his dad’s house, since neither of them are comfortable with Stiles staying alone in his own apartment. 

Stiles gingerly pulls a T-shirt over the bandages that are still covering the worst of his burns. His last dose of painkillers is starting to wear off and he feels achy and gross all over. It’ll be good to be out of this small room and back home, where he can clean the smell of hospital off. 

He rubs a hand through the stubble on his cheeks, wincing. It feels rough and patchy—he never could grow a beard, really. One of the major disappointments of his life.

When he looks up, Laura and Cora are standing in the doorway to the room. 

“Oh my God,” Stiles yells, throwing his arms up. “Don’t you guys knock? Or is it a werewolf thing that you have to sneak around giving heart attacks to innocent people?”

“I apologize,” Laura says stiffly. “Can we come in?”

Stiles squints at them. He’s not quite sure what’s happening, but they don’t look like they want to kill him or anything. “Uh, sure?”

Laura is acting all formal so Stiles tries to be polite in kind. He offers up the chair by his bedside to Laura and sinks down onto his bed slowly. Cora remains standing, just behind Laura’s left shoulder.

“So, what can I help you with today?” Stiles asks brightly. 

Laura’s face is stony and Stiles can’t read anything off her. “We came by to make sure you were recovering. Scott said you were healing well.”

“I am, yes.” Stiles says. He pauses, but Laura doesn’t seem to have anything else to say. “Is that it?”

Cora leans forward and nudges Laura gently on the shoulder. “Come on,” she murmurs. 

Laura scowls briefly up at Cora, then straightens out her expression as she turns to face Stiles. “Yes. I—we—wanted to thank you for your help.”

Stiles’ eyebrows fly up.

“You lied for us and put yourself in harm’s way to help us,” Cora adds. She actually smiles at Stiles, with no hostility at all behind it. “And we’re safe now. So thank you.”

Stiles isn’t quite sure what to do. Cora’s previous unfriendliness seems to have melted away, and even Laura is looking at him with grudging respect. 

“Oh,” he says. “Um. You’re welcome? It is kinda my job…”

“Nonetheless, you have the gratitude of the Hale pack,” Laura says. 

“Great,” Stiles says, then internally winces at how awkward that came out. But what do you say when a werewolf and her werewolf pack offers thanks for nearly being murdered by her psychopath nemesis? “And—if you have any other supernatural cases, you can always come to me for help.”

Laura dips her chin graciously. “Thank you.” She stands up. The scraping of her chair sounds unnaturally loud in the quiet room. “We’ll be off then. I wish you well in your recovery.”

“Thank you,” Stiles says. “Good luck with everything.”

Laura nods again and turns away, gesturing at Cora to follow. Cora shoots Stiles an honest-to-God friendly smile and lopes after her. 

None of them mention the glaring hole in the room: Derek’s absence. 

.

Stiles makes it a week before he cracks. 

It’s a week of restlessness, confined to the couch and his bed by his dad’s stern warnings, watching way too much TV. A week of discomfort, as his body healed slowly and his mind thought up some really lovely nightmares for Stiles to enjoy at night. A week of staring at his silent cellphone, waiting and hoping that it would light up with a call or message from Derek. 

Stiles didn’t realize how much he’d started to rely on Derek’s presence until he went without it. 

He’d tried to repress any feelings or untoward thoughts about Derek, because Stiles had been on a case and Derek was involved and it was all kinds of inappropriate. But the case is over now and Stiles has nothing to do but think, and his mind is choosing now to throw all sorts of unwelcome images at him. 

Like the memory of Derek’s smile, his closeness when they watched Star Wars that one night, his strong hands, the gentleness in his eyes when he’d looked at Stiles in the parking lot of the supermarket during their failed plan to entrap Kate. His really, really ridiculously gorgeous face and body (with increased werewolf stamina—) 

Considering all that, it’s kind of impressive that Stiles lasts a week before grabbing his car keys and deciding it was high time for a visit to the Hale’s apartment. 

Derek hasn’t contacted him at all in the almost two weeks since he’d rescued Stiles from Kate’s clutches—hadn’t visited at all, hadn’t called to make sure he was okay, nothing. 

Stiles is starting to get a little pissed. So when he arrives at the apartment, he immediately bangs on the door and yells for Derek to open it. 

There’s no sound in the apartment, but Stiles keeps banging. “I know you’re in there, Derek! Open up!”

Finally, he hears the door being unlocked from the other side. Derek, when the door is finally open, looks extremely uncomfortable and under slept. His beard is a lot fuller than Stiles remembers it being. 

“Move,” Stiles says. 

Derek stands aside mutely and Stiles sweeps into the apartment. Derek closes the door and shuffles a few steps forward, into the living room. 

Before Stiles can say anything, Cora runs out of her room and into the hallway. “Wait, just hold it until I get out, okay? I do not want to be here right now.”

Derek folds his arms, looking hunted. 

Cora shoots him a look as she passes him. “See if you can get him to shave his guilt beard off, yeah?” she murmurs to Stiles. “He can’t really pull off the lumberjack look.” 

Derek is blushing. Stiles refuses to be charmed and keeps firm eye contact with Derek as Cora exits the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

The silence she leaves behind is awkward to say the least. 

“So then,” Stiles says. “How’ve you been?”

Derek presses his lips together. 

“I’ve been fine, myself,” Stiles continues. “Apart from some burns and bruises and trauma from being forcibly kidnapped and nearly set on fire. And you?”

Derek speaks at last. “Stiles…”

“What?” Stiles says indignantly. “What have you been doing? From the looks of it, you’ve been skulking around your apartment, cultivating a rather magnificent beard and avoiding me!”

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me,” Derek says stiffly.

Stiles gapes. That…is not at all what he’d expected to hear. That Derek was pissed that Stiles had gotten himself in trouble, or upset that he couldn’t kill Kate and get his full revenge, yeah, Stiles could understand. But this? “Why on earth would I not want to see you?”

“Because it was my fault!” Derek bursts out. His fists are clenched tightly at his sides. “It’s my fault you got hurt!”

Stiles is silent. 

“It’s all me,” Derek grits out. “It was my fault that my family died and then Kate came back and you got involved and now Maya and Michael are dead. And she nearly got you too.”

“Derek…”

“You were on fire, Stiles!” Derek shouts. He pauses and starts again, his voice subdued. “You nearly died. I’m so sorry. I never should have let you get involved.”

“Okay, stop it right there!” Stiles says. “Pity party is over.” He leans forward. “None of that is your fault, you idiot! You’re so—argh!” He closes his eyes tightly for a moment, and when he opens them again Derek looks confused rather than haunted and apologetic. 

“Kate is evil. Really, truly evil. And really good at manipulating people. You cannot blame yourself for getting tricked when you were just a kid! And,” Stiles jabs a finger at Derek. “Stop it with the whole ‘shouldn’t have gotten me involved’ thing! I got myself involved! It’s my job! It’s dangerous, and I’m fully aware of that and I don’t blame you at all. So quit beating yourself up. Got it?”

Derek still looks pale and upset, but he no longer looks like he wants to throw himself out of a window, which Stiles takes as a win. “I’m sorry,” Derek says quietly. “It’s—hard. Every time I think I have it all under control, the guilt comes back again, even after all these years.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just stays silent. Derek slowly unclenches his fists and lets his arms hang loosely at his sides. 

“So we’re good?” Stiles says at last. 

Derek nods. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Stiles says. “I don’t want to have to drive over here to yell at you again.”

“I’m surprised you came, really. Wasn’t expecting it. I thought you were pissed at me,” Derek admits.

“I was pissed,” Stiles says. “Pissed that you were avoiding me. Not even visiting me while I was on my sickbed. Hmmph.”

Derek smiles slowly, reluctantly, as if he can’t help himself, gaze dropping to the ground, and something in Stiles’ stomach swoops. Before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “That’s not only why I came.”

“Oh?” Derek looks up at him. “What is it?”

Stiles stands there for a second, silently and furiously cursing his runaway mouth. His heart starts hammering wildly. “I—“ He takes a deep breath and plunges in. “I actually wanted to...ask you out. On a date.” 

Derek’s face freezes. 

“I’m sorry, this is such bad timing, I know,” Stiles rambles. He’s definitely panicking now. “I just, I figured that the case is over and it’s not against the rules anymore, and I really like you? And I’d like to have dinner with you sometime? Maybe?” 

Derek still isn’t saying anything, standing there with his face like stone, and Stiles feels himself wilt. 

“Right, I should have figured,” he says numbly. “I’m sorry, I’ll just go now—“

Stiles turns to leave and Derek kisses him, hands resting lightly on the sides of his face. He holds Stiles like he's precious, kisses him gently, softly, and Stiles can't think, can't do anything but kiss back, hands coming up to rest on Derek's back, clutching at the fabric. 

It's long moments until they pull apart. Derek rests his forehead against Stiles’ for a second, breathing hotly against Stiles' mouth. Finally, he pulls back, looking at Stiles.

Stiles stares back wordlessly.

"Dinner sounds great," Derek says, and that gorgeous smile Stiles loves lights up his face and Stiles just has to kiss it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally done!
> 
> Thank you for reading, and a special thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments! You've made my re-entry into fanfic publishing awesome.
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr [here](http://moosetifying.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
